415 
.1 

•S3 
X 


OR, 


THE  AMERICAN  VOLUNTEERS. 


91  tale  of  tljc  Jtoican 


IP 


BY  A.  S.  ST.  CLAIR. 


: '  Tie  past !     The  sultry  tyrant  of  the  south 
Has  spent  his  short-lived  rage ;  more  grateful  hours 
Move  silent  on.'  BARBAULD. 


BOSTON: 


PUBLISHED  BY  F.  'fiLEASON,  . 
AT    THE    FLAG    OF    OUR    UNION    OFFICE, 

CORNER  OF  COURT  AND  TREMONT  STREETS. 


*-*   * 


I  JOY  MO  I 


wmmJE  31  la  jJo® 


Entered,  according  to   Act  of  Congress,  in    the   year  1848, 

BY  F.  GLEASON, 

In  •  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 

s^^'Nx-xy-N/-x^^-'o'x^-^-v^^~orxxxxN^\^%^w 


| 

• 


Tin 


CHAPTER  I, 


WHO  does  not  remember  Friday,  the  10th  '• 
of  July,  1846.     The  heat  of  that  day  fell  with 
scathing  effect  upon  the  gay  city  of  New-Or 
leans.     As  the  sun  rose  above  the  horizon, 
its  first  rays  seemed  to  cast  a  burning  veil 
over  the  city,  which,  as  it  ascended  higher  in 
the  blue  ether,  and  gained  the  meridian,  be-' 
came    absolutely  intolerable,  suspending  all ! 
business  in  the  streets,  and  forcing  the  resi-  I 
dents  of  the  crescent  city  to  retreat  under 
cover,  with  few  exceptions ;  and  those  melt 
ing   beneath   the   sun's   fierce   beams,  were 
taken  home  to  bear  the  penalty  of  their  te 
merity  by  almost  immediate  death. 

But  those  who  were  sitting  in  their  own 
splendid  mansions,  surrounded  by  all  the 
luxuries  of  wealth,  received  not  a  breath  of 
air  to  cool  the  fevered  brow  ;  but  were  sitting 
listlessly  endeavoring  to  kill  time  by  some 
trifling  employment,  or  walking  back  and 
forth  from  room  to  room,  in  the  impatient 

" 


hope  of  inhaling  a  breath  of  what  was  not  to 
be  gained. 

Having  lingered  through  many  hours  in 
the  delusive  hope  of  a  change  in  the  atmos 
phere,  the  impatient  watchers  observed  a 
small  black  cloud  rising  in  the  west,  which 
spread  rapidly,  occasionally  emitting  from  its 
dark  bosom  brilliant  flashes  of  lightning,  fol 
lowed  by  hoarse  peals  of  thunder,  and  in  the 
space  of  five  minutes  it  had  covered  the 
heavens  like  a  pall ;  and  the  rain  began  to 
descend  in  torrents,  while  the  vivid  lightning, 
and  menacing  roll  of  the  thunder,  accompa 
nied  by  violent  wind,  presenting  such  a  con 
trast  to  the  burning  light,  and  almost  death 
like  silence  of  a  few  moments  before,  struck 
an  emotion  of  awe  into  every  bosom.  The 
storm  continued  unabated  for  half  an  hour, 
then  gradually  decreasing  in  violence,  the 
clouds  changing  constantly,  assumed  every 
variety  of  fantastic  form  as  moved  by  the 


SENORA  INKS. 


wind,  and  in  less  than  an  hour   from   their !  struggle   now    going   forward    between    onr 

•     •11          •  ___1TU* !_-  \H7  U.  ..  ±    J~  .-.    *K  ^  w,  1-    f^.P 


first  appearance,  not  a  cloud  was  visible  in 
the  deep  azure  above.  The  cool  breeze  was 
playing  its  gambols  in  the  street,  rushing 
freely  through  every  open  window,  thrown 
eagerly  back  for  the  welcome  visitant,  and 
imparting  new  life  and  strength  wherever  it 
penetrated. 

In  another  hour  the  rattling  wheels  of  the 
carmen  were  echoing  through  the  streets,  the 
market  women  had  returned  to  their  stalls, 
and  were  offering  their  choicest  goods  to 
view ;  while  the  principal  streets  were  throng 
ed  with  a  gay  multitude,  eagerly  rushing 
forth,  invited  by  the  refreshing  coolness  and 
purity  of  the  air,  to  enjoy  the  evening  hour. 
Business  men  stepped  forth  with  renewed 
zeal.  Here  a  gay  party  of  ladies  and  gentle 
men  were  walking  and  chatting  in  lively 
tones ;  there  a  party  of  gentlemen  conversing 
upon  grave  subjects,  others  hurrying  off  to 
some  convivial  meeting,  and  still  others  saun 
tering  about  alone,  or  in  groups  of  two  or 
three. 

Among  the  last  mentioned  were  two  young 
gentlemen,  of  distinguished  appearance,  who 
walked  arm  in  arm,  occasionally  pausing  to 
remark  on  some  passer-by,  and  again  absorb 
ed  in  what  seemed  to  be  an  interesting  con 
versation. 

Arthur  Clifton  was  rather  above,  the  middle 
height, -possessing  a  commanding,  yet  per 
fectly  elegant  form.  His  noble  brow,  shaded 
by  locks  of  glossy  brown,  and  the  lofty  ex 
pression  of  his  deep  blue  eye,  indicated  the 
possession  of  cultivated  intellect,  and  sensi 
bility  combined,  while  his  countenance  wore 
a  composed  and  slightly  grave  expression. 


country  and  Mexico.     Whut  do  you  think  of 
the  project  ?' 

1  Think  of  it!'  echoed  Stanley,  turning  and 
gazing  in  his  friend's  face,  to  assure  himself 
that  he  heard  aright :  '  you,  Clifton  ;  you  can 
not  be  sincere  in  what  you  say.  Rich,  hand 
some,  accomplished,  the  idol  of  the  ladies, 
and  envy  of  the  men — impossible  !  It  would 
not  seem  strange  had  I  proposed  such  a  thing, 
having  neither  of  these  qualities  to  recom 
mend  me  to  favor.  I  might  perhaps  gain  a 
reputation  for  bravery,  get  promoted,  and  all 
that,'  and  his  black  eyes  sparkled  at  the  idea, 
'  or  leavfc  my  bones  under  the  sods  of  Mexi 
co,  which  would  be  all  the  same  to  my 
friends,'  emphasizing  the  last  word  with  a 
bitter  smile. 

1  My  dear  Edward,  you  wrong  yourself  and 
me,  to  give  way  to  such  fancies,'  said  Clifton, 
pressing  his  hand  warmly.  '  I  have  several 
times  heard  you  speak  with  bitterness  of  your 
friends,  and  observed  a  shade  of  melancholy 
cross  your  features.  We  have  vowed  ever 
lasting  friendship  for  each  other,  and  can 
you  not  trust  the  cause  of  those  feelings  to 
one,  who,  if  not  competent  to  advise,  will  at 
least  sympathize  with  you  ?' 

For  a  moment  a  shade  almost  of  haughti 
ness  crossed  the  brow  of  Stanley,  but  meet 
ing  the  look  of  sincere  affection  beaming  from 
the  expressive  eyes  of  his  friend,  he  replied, 
'It  is  a  painful  story,  though  soon  told,  and 
you  shall  have  it,  but  not  now — to-night  at 
our  hotel.  And  now  tell  me,  Clifton,  if  you 
really  intend  going  into  Mexico,  as  you  said 
but  now  ;  leave  home,  friends,  and  the  luxury 
by  which  you  are  surrounded,  to  share  the 


Edward  Stanley  was  the  very  reverse  of 
his  friend.  His  form  was  slight  and  grace 
ful.  His  eyes  piercing  and  black  as  night, 
were  sparkling  with  gaiety  and  humor. 


perils  and  hardships  attendant  upon  the  life 
of  a  soldier.' 

'  Yes,  I  do  intend  it ;  but  in  speaking  of 
the  danger,  you  forget  the  glory,  which  will 


1  Stanley,'  said  his  friend,  after  a  pause  of  more  than  compensate  for  all  that,  you  know,' 


some  moments,  in  which  he  seemed  to  be  re 
solving  some  important  subject  in  his  mind  : 
'  Stanley,  I  have  nearly  decided  to  join  the 
army  of  General  Taylor,  as  a  volunteer  in  the 


said  Clifton,  with  a  smile. 

'  Very  true ;  but  I  am  assured  a  person  of 
your  lofty  mind  and  upright  principle,  would 
not  embark  in  such  an  enterprise,  without 


SENORA  1NES. 


9 


knowing  his  cause  was  just ;  and  can  you 
find  a  good  reason  for  the  invasion  of  a  peace 
able  territory  by  our  army  ?' 
•  '  Our  government,'  replied  Clifton,  '  thinks 
it  has  sufficient  reason  :  indeed,  thinks  itself 
the  aggrieved  party.  But  let  that  be  as  it 
may,  we  have  an  army  there,  altogether  too 
few  to  accomplish  what  they  are  required  to 
do,  and  it  is  the  duty  of  those  who  have  re 
mained  at  home  to  give  them  what  support 
lies  in  their  power.  At  least  I  feel  it  to  be 
mine,  to  lend  my  feeble  aid,  not  to  the  cause 
of  invasion,  but  to  the  assistance  of  the  hand 
ful  of  our  countrymen  who  are  in  the  midst 
of  an  enemy's  country.' 

'  Then  I  go  with  you,'  cried  Stanley,  after 
a  moment's  pause.  '  There  is  something  in 
the  wild  activity  of  a  soldier's  life, .  that 
strikes  my  fancy,  and  I  will  accompany  you, 
as  I  have  nothing  to  bind  me  more  to  one 
place  than  to  another.' 

1  I  do  not  wish  to  advise,'  answered  Ar 
thur,  '  though  I  will  not  deny  that  your  de 
cision  gives  me  pleasure.  There  is  a  volun 
teer  regiment  forming  here,  in  which  I  have 
been  offered  a  captaincy,  and  if,  as  you  said, 
you  will  join  us,  I  will  exert  my  influence  to 
procure  you  a  lieutenant's^commission  in  the 
same  company.' 

*  Nothing  would  please  me  more.  I  am 
sure  I  can  trust  in  your  superior  judgment  as 
to  the  right  of  the  affair,'  replied  Stanley, 
with  a  gay  smile.  '  So  now  that  is  settled, 
let  us  walk  on  and  pay  our  respects  to  those 
houris  across  the  way,'  at  the  same  time  di 
recting  Clifton's  attention  by  a  glance.  '  If  I 
mistake  not,  that  is  Mademoiselle  Dupage,  to 
whom  you  gave  me  an  introduction  the  other 
day.'  Clifton  turned  his  eyes  in  the  direction 
indicated,  at  the  same  time  moving  lorward 
to  join  them. 

While  the  friends  are  occupied  in  this 
movement,  we  will  give  a  slight  description 
of  the  ladies. 

Mademoiselle  Dupage  was  a  pretty  bru 
nette,  hair  and  eyes  of  jet,  rosy  !ips  continu 


ally  wreathed  in  smiles,  and  eyes  sparkling 
with  volumes  of  mischief. 

Her  companion  was  about  the  middle 
height,  possessing  a  form  of  perfect  elegance 
and  grace.  Her  hair  was  a  rich  glossy 
brown,  eyes  of  the  softest  hazel,  and  her 
forehead,  broad  and  white  as  the  purest  ala 
baster,  gave  evidence  of  intellect  of  an  ele 
vated  order,  while  the  expression  of  the 
mouth  indicated  firmness  of  character,  com 
bined  with  the  soft  and  gentle  affections. 
Though  not  strikingly  handsome,  she  was 
formed  to  attract  attention  at  the  first  glance. 
No  one  who  gazed  once  upon  her  soul-lit 
countenance,  but  turned  to  look  sgain,  charm 
ed  by  the  variety  and  brilliancy  of  expression 
depfcted  there. 

As  the  gentlemen  approached,  Miss  Du 
page  threw  back  her  veil,  and  shook  hands 
cordially  with  Clifton,  extending  the  tips  of 
her  fingers  to  Stanley  with  a  graceful  incli 
nation. 

'  I  am  happy  to  see  you  out  enjoying  this 
delightful  evening,'  exclaimed  Clifton.  '  For 
some  days  past  it  has  been  almost  impossible 
to  move  out,  but  this  day  of  days  has  seemed 
to  search  the  very  blood  in  our  veins,  and 
turn  one's  breath  into  a  flame  of  fire.' 

'  Yes,'  replied  Miss  Dupage,  '  and  even 
now  I  think  the  blood  in  some  veins  is  ap 
proaching  a  fever  heat,'  and  her  bright  eyes 
sparkled  with  mischief,  as  she  glanced  at 
Stanley,  who  was  gazing,  with  his  soul  in  his 
eye,  in  the  face  of  her  friend. 

He  started,  arid  colored,  while  the  lady,  at 
this  remark  of  her  friend,  and  noticing  the 
look  of  undisguised  admiration  beaming  from 
the  eye  of  Stanley,  blushed,  and  made  a  dig 
nified  motion  to  release  her  arm,  and  walk 
on  alone. 

'  O,  a  thousand  pardons,'  cried  the  lively 
lady,  resisting  the  motion, '  for  not  presenting 
you  before ;  but  I  noticed  the  expressive  lan 
guage  of  Mr.  Stanley's  eyes,  and  could  not 
think  of  interrupting  anything  so  delightful. 
My  dear  friend,  Miss  Hereford.' 

Both  gentlemen  bowed. 


10 


SENORA  INES. 


4  Hereford  !'  cried  Clifton,  in  surprise.  '  Is 
it  possible  I  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the 
daughter  of  my  respected  friend,  Joseph 
Hereford,  of street. 

'  Thank  you,  I  am  indeed  his  daughter. 
It  is  but  a  week  since  I  returned  home,  hav 
ing  been  absent  nearly  a  year.' 

Clifton  expressed  his  pleasure  at  the  meet 
ing,  while  Stanley  crossed  over,  and  taking 
his  station  at  her  side,  gaily  apologized  for 
liis  unintentional  rudeness,  in  allowing  his 
eyes  to  follow  the  direction  of  his  heart. 

Miss  Hereford  listened  to  him  with  be 
coming  politeness,  and  they  were  soon  en 
gaged  in  an  animated  conversation.  Clifton 
and  Miss  Dupage  walked  on  together,  she 
chatting  upon  a  variety  of  subjects,  with  all 
the  giddy  vivacity  of  a  French  girl. 

'  Well,  Mr.  Clifton,'  she  cried,  after  run 
ning  on  till  she  was  weary  upon  other  sub 
jects,  '  you  see  it  is  all  over  with  your  friend, 
poor  fellow.  I  am  sorry  for  him.' 

Clifton  smiled  :  4  Why  sorry  for  him  1  he 
seems  very  happy  just  now.' 

4  Yes,  but  my  friend  Alice  is  bien  reserve 
to  all  lover's  vows.  She  has  been  absent 
three  years  at  school,  only  spending  the  vaca 
tion  at  home,  where  she  has  been  surrounded 
by  a  bevy  of  beaux.  She  seems  to  take 
pleasure  in  their  society,  but  when  they  go  so 
far  as  to  propose,  invariably,  with  a  sweet 
smile,  she  says  no.' 

4  Well,'  answered  Clifton,  '  t  hope  that 
Stanley  will  not  lose  his  senses  entirely,  or 
that  the  little  wily  god  will  befriend  him,  and 
plant  his  image  direct  in  her  heart.' 

4  Ah,'  replied  the  lady,  with  a  look  of  mock 
gravity,  4  have  you  no  fears  for  yourself? 
They  say  it  is  utterly  impossible  for  a  gentle 
man  of  any  taste  to  spend  one  day  in  the  so 
ciety  of  the  brilliant  Miss  Hereford,  without 
falling  in  love  directly.  And  though  you 
have  lived  to  the  grave  age  of  twenty  eight, 
without  losing  your  heart,'  she  continued,  a 
roguish  smile  playing  over  her  lips,  4  yet,  I 
will  wager  you  this  curl  ' — twisting  one  of 
her  dark  ringlets  in  her  fingers — '  against 


one  of  your  own  brown  locks,  that  before  you 
have  known  Alice  a  week,  you  will  make  a 
more  desperate  wish  for  yourself  than  you 
have  just  done  for  your  friend.' 

4 1  accept  the  wager,'  said  Clifton,  with  a 
smile  as  gay  as  her  own.  '  I  assure  you  my 
heart  is  secure  against  all  attacks  from  bright 
eyes  and  rosy  cheeks.' 

'  Well,  nous  verrons  ;  but  here  comes  my 
father,  who  left  us  a  few  moments  since,  and 
Mr.  Hereford  with  him.' 

As  the  two  gentlemen  approached,  Mon 
sieur  Dupage  held  out  his  hand  to  Clifton, 
with  the  remark,  4  Devoted  to  the  ladies  this 
evening,  I  see.' 

4  Surely,  I  could  not  be  better  employed 
than  at  present,'  bowing  gallantly  to  the  lady 
at  his  side. 

4  O,  certainly  not,'  was  the  answer ;  4  but, 
ladies,'  he  continued,  turning  to  them,  '  I  am 
in  readiness  to  go  home.  Will  you  accom 
pany  me  now,  or  do  you  prefer  remaining 
still  longer  V 

4  Whenever  you  please,  sir,'  was  the  reply, 
and  the  two  ladies,  with  the  doctor,  walked 
homeward,  Miss  Hereford  having  spent  a  day 
or  two  with  them,  and  her  father  walked  on 
with  our  two  friends. 

Mr.  Hereford  was  head  of  one  of  the  prin 
cipal  mercantile  firms  in  the  city,  possessing 
unbounded  wealth,  and  a  benevolence  and 
taste,  which  enabled  him  to  surround  himself 
with  all  that  was  beautiful  and  rare,  and  gain 
for  himself  the  heartfelt  blessings  of  many  a 
poor  child  of  want.  Alice,  his  eldest  child, 
now  about  nineteen,  had  received  every  ad 
vantage  that  an  accomplished  education  could 
add  to  a  naturally  splendid  intellect.  She 
possessed  brilliant  conversational  powers,  and 
an  easy  and  graceful  manner,  which  fascina 
ted  and  charmed  the  listener.  Her  father 
almost  idolized  her,  and  could  not,  at  this 
time,  avoid  speaking  a  parent's  feelings  in 
regard  to  her.  Stanley  felt  she  was  too  fas 
cinating  for  his  own  peace  of  mind.  Clifton 
expressed  pleasure  at  meeting  with  his  daugh 
ter,  and  hoped  the  friendship  of  Mr.  Here- 


SENORA  INES, 


11 


ford,  which  he  had  the  pleasure  of  enjoying, 
would  enable  him  to  become  better  acquaint 
ed  with  his  family. 

The  old  gentleman  invited  them  both  to 
his  house  saying  : 

'  I  have  also  a  charming  little  niece,  to 
whom  I  would  like  to  present  you.  She  is 
quite  the  reverse  of  my  dear  Alice  in  appear^ 
ance  and  disposition,  and  is  a  perfect  pet  in 
our  family.' 

'  Indeed,  I  think  I  have  heard  her  men 
tioned,  as  being  absent  at  school  with  your 
daughter.' 

'  The  very  same ;  -a  young  Mexican  senor* 
ita.  She  has  been  quite  indisposed  to-day, 
or  she  would  have  been  out  enjoying  this  de 
lightful  hour.  But  you  must  excuse  me, 
gentlemen ;  I  have  an  engagement  with  a 
friend,  and  must  leave  you.' 

The  friends  bowed  and  passed  on.  Stan 
ley  remained  silent,  but  his  sparkling  eye, 
and  the  heaving  of  his  breast,  told  plainly  to 
the  experienced  glance  of  his  friend  the  state 
of  his  feelings. 

Arthur  sighed  at  the  thought  that  those 
blissful  hopes  might  so  soon  be  changed  to 
disappointment,  and  even  as  he  gazed,  the 
countenance  of  his  friend  underwent  a 
change,  his  eyes  lost  their  animation,  and 
the  deepest  melancholy  was  painted  on  his 
features,  while  sigh  after  sigh  agitated  his 
breast.  Noting  these  emotions,  Clifton  be 
came  lost  in  thought,  and  was  roused  from 
this  mood  by  the  appearance  of  a  lady,  who 
had  just  stepped  out  of  a  fashionable  store 
followed  by  a  negro  girl  a  few  steps  behinc 
her.  His  eye  followed  her  fairy  form  as  sh 
glided  on  before  him,  every  motion  full  of  in 
finite  grace.  He  regarded  her  with  a  loo] 
of  admiration,  till,  turning  into  a  cross  street 
she  disappeared. 

As  they  reached  the  post-office,  Clifton 
who  was  anxiously  expecting  letters,  steppe 
in,  and  Stanley,  saying  he  had  some  busines 
with  his  lawyer,  and  would  meet  him  in  a 
hour  at  their  hotel,  passed  on. 

When  Clifton  emerged  from  the  office,  hi 


ttention  was  aroused  by  shouts,  and  the 
attling  of  carriage  wheels.  Hastening  for- 
'ard,  he  saw  a  span  of  horses,  attached  to  a 
arriage,  rushing  down  the  street  towards 
im,  with  the  velocity  of  the  wind.  One 
fier  another  attempted  to  stop  them,  but 
vithout  success.  As  they  approached  Clif- 
on,  the  carriage  came  in  contact  with  a 
ude  wagon,  standing  near,  and  with  a  crash 
>verturned  ;  and  the  harness  giving  way,  the 
orses,  with  increased  terror,  flew  along,  to 
he  infinite  peril  of  all  in  the  streets. 

As  they  neared  the  corner  where  Clifton 
tood,  he  cast  an  eye  back  of  him,  and  there, 
ID  a  cross  walk  in  the  centre  of  the  street, 
tood  the  lady  who  a  few  moments  before  had 
attracted  his  attention.  She  had  turned  her 
lead  for  a  moment,  to  reply  to  a  lady  who 
lad  accosted  her  from  a  window  near,  and 
utterly  unconscious  of  the  danger  of  her  po- 
ition,  was  smiling  and  waving  her  hand, 
when  the  negro  girl,  who  was  still  near  her, 
casting  a  look  in  the  direction  of  the  tumult 

o 

which  had  just  struck  her  ear,  screamed  in 
affright : 

'  O,  missy  Ines,  come,  come,'  and  with  a 
terror  that  gave  her  speed,  sprang  to  the  side 
walk. 

The  lady's  eyes  followed  those  of  her  ser 
vant,  and  perceiving  her  perilous  situation, 
attempted  to  move  ;  but  her  limbs  failed,  and 
the  very  moment  the  horses  dashed  around 
the  corner,  unable  longer  to  support  her 
trembling  form,  with  a  faint  shriek  she  fell 
on  her  knees,  and  with  clasped  hands  and 
eyes  upraised,  seemed  imploring  a  higher 
power  than  that  of  man  to  preserve  her  from 
this  peril.  Her  bonnet  had  fallen  off,  and 
her  raven  tresses  streaming  in  long  curls 
upon  her  shoulders,  and  around  her  pale 
face,  gave  the  latter  a  deathlike  hue. 

She  was  exceedingly  beautiful,  and  at  this 
moment  formed  a  picture  a  painter  would 
have  coveted.  But  Clifton  saw  not  this  ;  he 
only  felt  that  a  fellow-creature  was  in  dan 
ger,  and  springing  forward  with  lightning 
speed,  he  caught  the  lady  in  his  arms,  from 


12 


SENORA  INES. 


under  the  very  hoofs  of  the  trampling  steeds  ; 
and  the  next  instant  was  upon  the  walk,  with 
bis  now  insensible  burden.  At  the  same 
moment  a  severe  but  ill-judged  blow  from  an 
enormous  cane,  held  by  some  one  near, 
caused  the  enraged  animals  to  shy,  simulta 
neous  with  Clifton's  bound  aside,  placing  him 
in  the  same  danger  as  before. 

Clasping  the  lady  firmly  in  hia  left  hand, 
with  his  right  he  seized  the  bits,  and  exert 
ing  the  whole  strength  of  his  powerful  arm, 
turned  them  violently  aside;  but  as  they 
passed  he  received  a  blow  from  the  ironed 
hoof  in  the  breast,  which  cast  him  lifeless  to 
the  ground,  still  clinging  to  the  fair  girl. 

The  crowd  gathered  round,  with  difficulty 
released  the  lady  from  the  clasped  hand  of 
Clifton.  Having  merely  fainted  from  terror, 
she  soon  revived,  and  gazed  wildly  round 
with  a  bewildered  air,  till  her  eye  falling  on 
the  motionless  form  before  her,  the  truth 
flashed  upon  her,  and  with  every  feature  con 
vulsed  with  horror,  she  gasped,  '  O  gracious 
Heaven,  he  is  killed,  and  it  was  to  save  me.' 

Several  gentlemen  who  were  bending  over 
Clifton,  assured  her  there  was  still  a  motion 
of  the  heart,  and  he  might  yet  be  restored. 
Thanking  them,  she  turned  eagerly  to  one  of 
the  bystanders,  dropped  a  piece  of  silver  in 
his  hand,  and  requested  him  to  call  a  carriage. 
The  instant  it  drove  up,  several  gentlemen 
entered  with  the  insensible  body  of  the  un 
known,  and  the  driver  took  a  direction  from 
the  lady,  who  followed  in  another  hack,  after 
having  sent  for  a  physician. 

On  arriving  at  the  door  of  her  residence, 
she  sprang  out,  motioned  the  men  to  follow, 
and  passed  through  the  hall  into  the  drawing 
room,  where  a  lady  sat  by  a  window,  occu 
pied  in  watching  the  frolics  of  a  group  of 
children,  sporting  on  the  green  beneath. 

Though  forty  years  of  age  she  appeared 
much  younger,  tall,  and  finely-formed,  with 
an  air  of  easy  self-possession,  indicative  of 
familiarity  with  the  higher  walks  of  society. 
As  the  gentlemen  deposited  their  burden  on 
the  sofa,  the  lady  rose  hastily,  exclaiming, 


'  O,  Ines,  what,  what  has  happened  V  and 
then,  obtaining  a  view  of  the  features,  turned 
to  Ines  in  surprise,  with  a  look  of  inquiry. 

A  gentleman  named  Martin  having  given 
an  explanation,  the  lady  sent  a  servant  for 
his  master,  and  turned  to  assist  the  sufferer. 

In  a  few  moments  the  hall  door  was  thrown 
open,  and  Doctor  Dupage  and  sevrant  enter 
ed,  followed  by  Mr.  Hereford,  for  it  was  to 
his  house  and  to  the  carejof  his  lady  that 
Clifton  was  brought.  As  the  door  opened, 
Ines  bounded  forward,  and  seizing  the  doc 
tor's  hand,  cried : 

'  O,  my  dear  sir,  you  can,  you  will  surely 
restore  him  to  life.' 

He  pressed  her  hand  in  reply,  and  advanc 
ed  to  the  couch  of  the  sufferer. 

'  Holy  mother !'  he  exclaimed.  '  Is  it — 
can  it  be  possible  this  is  Arthur  Clifton  1 — 
Not  an  hour  ago  I  parted  from  him  in  per 
fect  health  and  smiling  with  happiness. — 
When — how  was  this  done  ?'  turning  a  look 
of  inquiry  upon  Mrs.  Hereford,  who,  turning 
to  Mr.  Martin,  begged  him  to  explain  what 
he  had  already  related  to  her. 

He  complied,  and  turning  to  the  doctor 
and  Mr.  Hereford,  who  stood  gazing  with 
sorrow  and  amazement  upon  the  spectacle 
before  him,  related  the  incident,  which  bound 
up  every  other  sense  in  that  of  listening. — 
Upon  examination,  a  severe  contusion  on  the 
back  of  the  head  and  the  marks  of  the  hoofs 
in  the  breast  were  found.  There  was  no 
fracture  of  the  skull,  but  the  blow  upon  the 
head  had  stunned  him.  He  was  placed  in  a 
warm  bath,  and  the  doctor  opening  a  vein, 
after  several  trials,  succeeded  in  starting  the 
blood.  At  first  it  trickled  but  in  drops,  but 
soon  flowed  more  freely,  and  in  the  course 
of  an  hour,  the  doctor  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  partial  animation  restored.  He  re 
mained  insensible  to  everything  for  hours; 
was  very  restless,  and  at  times  muttered  in 
coherently.  The  doctor  left  him  about  mid 
night,  after  giving  directions  in  regard  to  his 
charge,  in  the  care  of  Mr.  Hereford  and  Mr. 
Martin,  who  volunteered  to  remain  with  him. 


CHAPTER  II. 


'  My  heavy  heart,  the  prophetess  of  woe, 
Foretells  some  ill  at  hand.' 

IT  was  midnight,  and    the   multitude   that :  surely  he  would  not  without  informing  me  of 
30  lately  thronged  the  streets,   were   wrapped  his  intention.     Never,  since  the   commence- 


in  slumber.  The  noisy  hum  of  voices  had 
ceased.  The  free  laugh  and  jocund  song  of 
gay  promen ciders  had  passed  away  ;  and  the 


merit  of  our  acquaintance,  have  we  been  sep 
arated  one  night.  But  no !  my  foreboding 
heart  too  truly  divines  that  some  fearful  acci- 


mantle  of  silence  was  thrown  over  the  gay  ;dent  has  befallen  him.  In  one  hour  he  was 
city.  The  majestic  queen  of  night  was  sail- j  to  have  met  me  here  ;  but  how  many  long 
ing  in  proud  beauty  through  the  deep  blue  hours  have  glided  away,  and  still  he  comes 
ether,  her  pure  silvery  radiance  undimmed  by  not.' 


a  single  cloud. 

At  this  hour,  in  a  large,  splendidly  fur 
nished  room  in  one  of  the  principal  hotels  of 
street,  might  be  seen  a  young  man, 


Stanley  (for  it  was  he),  upon  leaving  Clif 
ton,  had  proceeded  directly  to  his  attorney, 
and  remained  nearly  an  hour  in  consultation 
with  him  ;  then  proceeding  to  their  rooms, 


pacing  back  and  forth  with  an  appearance  of!  was  surprised  at  not  finding  his  friend  alrea- 
the  greatest  agitation,  occasionally  pausing  '  dy  arrived.  Taking  up  a  book,  he  occupied 
in  his  rapid  course  as  if  in  deep  thought ;  j  himself  for  an  hour  ;  then  sallied  forth  in 
then  hastening  to  the  windows  that  overlook- ,'  search  of  him.  Travelling  one  street  after 
ed  the  street,  and  casting  an  anxious  eye  over  another,  and  calling  at  a  variety  of  lounging 
the  moonlight  scene  without;  then  returning  rooms,  without  finding  any  trace  of  him,  he 
with  as  much  haste,  as  if  rapidity  of  motion  i  suddenly  decided  to  call  at  his  friend  Du- 
could  annihilate  thought,  throwing  himself ;  page,  in  the  hope  of  finding  him  there.  Ring- 
upon  a  sofa  and  murmuring  to  himself — '  O,' !  ing  at  the  door,  a  servant  in  answer  to  his  in- 
cried  he,  '  why  is  he  absent  ?  Has  he  gone  j  quiry,  said  the  doctor  had  been  called  away 
to  spend  the  night  with  some  friend?  But  |  suddenly  to  visit  a  dying  man.  'Then  has 


14 


SENORA  INES. 


not  Mr.    Clifton   been   here  this   evening  ? ' 
The  servant  answered  in  the   negative,    and 
slowly  turning  away  in  disappointment,  walk 
ed  on  with  slow    and    desponding    steps    to 
wards  his  hotel.     But  suddenly  rousing   from 
his  pensive  mood,  he  cried,  '  What  4  fool   I 
am,  taking  a  wild   goose   chase    around  the 
the  city,  in  search  of  one  who   will  probably 
bestow  upon  me  a  hearty  laugh  for  my  pains. 
Let  him  stay  away  if  he  pleases  ;    I   will    go 
home  and  sleep  soundly  in  spite  of  him.'  Ac 
cordingly,  with  this  wise  determination  he  as 
cended  to  his   rooms ;     but  they   looked   so 
lonely  without  the  cheering  presence   of  his 
friend,  that  all  his  old  misgivings  came   over 
him  ;  and  pacing  the   floor   with  disordered 
steps,  he  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in    words. 
Edward  Stanley,  though  still  young,    had 
seen  much  of  the  world's  baseness,    and    had 
experienced   its  unfeeling   fickleness  in  his 
own  person.     Having  no  near  relative  living, 
and  going  abroad  immediately   after   leaving 
college,  he  had  formed   few    acquaintances, 
deserving  the  name  of  friends.     About   two 
months  since,  only  a  short  time  after  leaving 
college,  he  had  happily  saved  the  life  of  Clif 
ton,  who  entangled  with  the  trappings  of  his 
horse  in  crossing  a  stream,    would    inevitably 
have  perished,  had   not   Stanley   with   great 
difficulty  rescued  him.     Clifton's  ardent   ex 
pressions  of  gratitude,  joined  to  the   repeated 
wish  that  their  acquaintance   so   auspiciously 
commenced,  might  be  ripened    into   sincere 
and  lasting  friendship  by  constant  association, 
met  a  warm  response  in  the  bosom   of  Stan 
ley,  whose  soul  yearned  for   some  object  on 
which  to  pour  out  all  the   hoarded   treasures 
of  affection,  so  long  pent  up  and  driven  back 


offer.  He  said  he  had  some  business  in  New 
Orleans  but  it  was  not  so  pressing  as  to  re 
quire  immediate  attention,  and  he  would 
gladly  spend  a  few  days  in  the  society  of  his 
new  friend. 

It  was  nearly  sunset,  when  as  they  ascend 
ed  a  long  hill,  Clifton  suddenly   stopped   and 
pointed  to  a  splendid  villa,  about  half  a  mile 
in  advance,  situated  upon   the   shore  of  the 
Mississippi,  exclaiming,  '  There  is  my  house.' 
'  And  a  delightful  home  it  is,'    said    Stan 
ley,  his  eye  taking  in  the  whole  beauty  of  the 
scene.     It  was  a  large,  old  fashioned   house, 
with  a  portico  supported  by  enormous  pillars 
in  front.     It  was  almost  buried  in  a  grove  of 
trees,  while  the  grounds  were  laid   out   in   a 
tasteful  style,  being  terraced  down  almost   to 
the  river's  bank.     As  our  gentlemen  advanc 
ed  at  a  rapid  pace,  the  gate  flew  open  at  their 
entrance,  and  advancing  up  the  long  avenue, 
overshadowed  by  towering  oaks,  Clifton  gave 
their  horses  in  charge  of  a  servant,  and    en 
tering  the   house    presented    Stanley  to   his 
mother,  with  a  brief  relation  of  the  circum 
stances  attending  their  meeting.     Mrs.    Clif 
ton's  cheek  paled  at  the  recital    of  her  son's 
danger,  and  she  expressed    her   lively    grati 
tude    to   Stanley  in  the  most  fervent   man 
ner. 

Mrs.  Clifton  was  a  fine  looking  woman, 
with  easy,  ladylike  manners.  An  expression 
of  calm  serenity  and  perfect  good  nature  per 
vaded  every  feature.  She  was  a  native  of 
Scotland.  Her  father,  James  Douglass,  was 
the  last  of  an  ancient  family,  possessing  un 
bounded  wealth  and  pride  of  birth.  He  had 
but  two  children;  James  his  eldest,  was  but 
twenty-two  years  of  age  when  his  father  died, 


to  their  source,  by  the  ingratitude  and  cruel 
ty  of  those  he  had  once  regarded  as  friends. 
Clifton  told  him  they  were  now  in  the  vicini 
ty  of  his  residence,  and  gave  him  a  pressing 
invitation  to  accompany  him  to  the  planta 
tion,  and  spend  a  few  days  at  least,  where  his 
mother  would  be  most  happy  to  entertain  one 
fb  whom  they  owed  so  much.  Stanley  re 
quired  little  urging  to  accept  so  pleasing  an 


leaving  his  young  sister  Helen,  then  about 
sixteen,  to  his  care.  Soon  after  the  death  of 
Mr.  Douglass,  his  son  determined  to  gratify 
a  long  cherished  wish  of  visiting  the  new 
world  ;  and  as  Helen  would  not  consent  to 
remain  behind,  he  turned  his  property  into 
money,  and  taking  with  him  all  they  wished 
for  the  present,  placed  the  remainder  in  se 
curity,  upon  which  he  could  draw  at  any 


SENORA  INES. 


15 


time,  and  came  over  to  our  land  of  adventure. 
He  spent  several  years  in  Philadelphia, where 
his  lovely  sister  won  the  affections  of  all  who 
approached  her.  At  the  age  of  eighteen,  she 
gave  her  hand  and  heart  to  Mr.  Clifton,  a 
gentleman  of  good  family  and  extensive  prop 
erty.  Her  brother  now  following  his  incli 
nation  for  travelling,  visited  almost  every 
place  of  interest,  and  at  the  end  of  four  years 
married  a  lady  of  surpassing  beauty  and 
worth.  She  was  of  one  of  the  oldest  fami 
lies  in  the  country,  though  portionless.  Mr. 
Douglass,  being  possessed  of  abundance  him 
self,  cared  not  for  increase  of  wealth,  and 
loved  her  for  herself  alone.  He  immediately 
became  possessor  of  a  splendid  residence,  and 
valuable  plantation,  about  fifty  "miles  from 
New  Orleans,  where  Mr.  Clifton  soon  follow 
ed,  and  retired  upon  the  estate  to  which  we 
have  just  introduced  our  readers,  only  five 
miles  distant. 

Here  henceforth  the  two  families  remain 
ed,  enjoying  the  delights  of  social  intercourse 
until  the  cholera,  that  fearful  scourge,  passed 
through  our  country,  when  Mrs.  Douglass 
and  her  three  eldest  children  were  swept 
away  in  one  week.  Her  husband  who  wor 
shipped  her,  followed  broken  hearted,  leaving 
his  only  remaining  child  the  little  Helen, to  the 
guardian  care  of  Mr.  Clifton,  who  at  once 
adopted  her  into  his  family  and  heart.  She 
was  ever  regarded  with  affection  ;  but  when 
Mrs.  Clifton  lost  by  the  hand  of  death  her 
only  daughter,  Helen  took  the  place  left  va 
cant  in  her  heart,  and  she  grew  up  the  pride 
and  ornament  of  their  house1.  Her  engaging 
sweetness  of  disposition,  the  peculiar  naivete 
of  her  manners,  and  her  devoted  affection  for 
her  more  than  parents,  and  the  adopted  broth 
er  of  her  childhood,  rendered  her  all  that  was 
amiable  and  lovely. 

Mr.  Clifton's  death,  four  years  previous  to 
the  opening  of  our  tale,  cast  a  gloom  over 
the  hitherto  happy  family.  Mrs.  Clifton  had 
received  several  dislioguished  offers;  but  de 
voted  to  the  love  ofher  youth,  declined  them 
all,  and  lived  happy  in  the  society  of  her 


only  son  and  niece.     The  latter  at   the  time 
of  Stanley's  visit  was  absent  at  school. 

As  Mr.  Stanley  was  a  stranger  in  this  part, 
Clifton  took  him  on  long  excursions  through 
the  surrounding  country  ;  and  when  at  home, 
they  spent  the  time  in  entertaining  conversa 
tion,  in  carrying  out  Mrs.  Clifton's  designs, 
about  some  new  improvement  of  the  grounds, 
or  in  taking  a  gay  sail  upon  the  broad  bo 
som  of  the  river ;  and  in  this  way  the  time 
flew  so  rapidly  that  at  the  end  of  six  weeks, 
Stanley  could  scarce  realize  he  had  been 
there  as  many  days.  But  then  he  found  that 
he  must  break  the  spell  that  bound  him,  and 
tear  himself  away.  The  very  idea  was  pain 
ful,  for  he  had  become  very  much  attached  to 
Mrs.  Clifton,  who  had  indeed  treated  him  as 
a  son  ;  and  his  friend  he  regarded  as  a  dearly 
loved  brother.  They  had  reconciled  him  to 
a  world  that  he  almost  hated,  and  directed 
his  mind  to  a  higher  source  than  man  for 
consolation.  This  was  a  direction  in  which 
his  thoughts  had  seldom  turned  ;  and  as  he 
listened  to  the  gentle,  persuasive  eloquence  of 
Mrs.  Clifton,  and  saw  the  effect  of  her  faith 
in  her  conduct  and  uniform  serenity  of  mind, 
a  new  world  was  opened  to  him.  Therefore 
when  he  found  that  he  must  part  wuh  them, 
the  thought  cast  a  shade  of  melancholy  over 
his  mind.  Every  inducement  was  held  forth 
to  retain  still  longer,  one  in  whose  society 
they  both  delighted ;  but  when  he  declared 
that  business  called  him  imperatively  to  the 
city,  Clifton  announced  his  intention  of  going 
with  him,  though  it  was  but  few  weeks  since 
he  left  there,  which  his  friend  heard  with  joy. 
At  the  time  our  story  commences  they  had 
been  in  town  but  two  weeks. 

We  must  beg  the  reader's  pardon  for  such 
a  lengthy  digression  ;  but  as  poor  Stanley's 
anxiety  in  regard  to  his  friend  was  so  great, 
we  thought  we  would  take  part  of  the  weary 
time  off  his  hands,  by  an  explanation  of 
the  commencement  of  so  devoted  a  friend 
ship. 

But  to  return.  Wearied  at  last  with  watch 
ing,  he  threw  himself  upon  his  couch,  but  not 


SENORA  INES. 


tq  sleep.  Suspense,  that  most  torturing  of  all 
earthly  evils,  was  too  racking  to  be  endured 
with  fortitude;  and  gladly  did  he  hail  the 
first  approach  of  dawn.  Soon  after  the  first 
rays  of  the  sun  were  visible,  he  stepped  into 
the  street,  thinking  the  morning  air  would  re 
fresh  him,  and  walked  slowly  on,  musing 
upon  the  strange  absence  of  his  friend.  When 
coming  near  the  scene  of  last  night's  disas 
ter,  he  heard  several  men  talking  together 
about  an  accident  that  had  happened  there. 
Eagerly  grasping  at  anything  that  might  give 
him  intelligence  of  Arthur,  he  made  some  in 
quiries,  and  was  immediately  informed  of 
wha1;  had  happened.  But  they  could  neither 
tell  him  the  gentleman's  name  nor  where  he 
was  removed.  Edward  turned  away,  forcibly 
impressed  with  the  idea  that  Clifton  was  the 
victim  of  the  scene  just  related;  and  hasten 
ing  to  his  hotel,  was  informed  as  he  entered 
the  hail  that  a  man  was  awaiting  him  within. 
It  was  a  servant  of  Mr.  Hereford,  sent  to  ap 
prise  him  of  the  situation  of  his  friend.  He 
said  Clifton  was  now  delirious,  and  constant 
ly  raved  of  him.  Stanley  would  scarcely  give 
the  man  time  to  repeat  his  errand,  but  eager 
ly  requested  him  to  lead  him  to  the  side  of 
his  friend.  -  Jumping  into  a  carriage  they 
were  in  a  few  moments  set  down  at  Mr. 
Hereford's  door.  Entering  the  house,  and 
requesting  the  servant  to  conduct  him  to  Mr. 
Clifton,  they  passed  through  a  room  in  which 
several  ladies  were  sitting.  Impatient  to 
proceed,  he  scarcely  noted  wh'o  were  in  the 
room;  but  bowing  slightly  to  the  ladies, 
passed  on.  As  they  entered  the  sick  room, 
Stanley  saw  Monsieur  Dupage,  who  was 
standing  by  a  table  near  the  door,  hand  a  cup 
to  a  fairy-like  creature,  who  turning  to  the 
outstretched  form  of  his  friend  upon  a  couch 
near,  pressed  the  cup  to  his  lips.  But  he  put 
it  away  with  his  hand,  and  raising  himself 
with  a  sudden  effort  upon  his  arm,  cried  as 
he  gazed  wildly  around,  '  Edward,  dear  Ed 
ward,  why  do  you  not  come ;  have  you  too, 
deserted  me?  '  Stanley  sprung  forward,  and 
bending  over  his  friend,  exclaimed,  'O  Ar 


thur,  I  am  here,  your  own  Edward,  your  de 
voted  brother.'  Clifton  looked  eagerly  in  hig 
face  for  a  moment,  and  extended  his  hand  as 
if  to  grasp  him  ;  but  falling  back  with  a 
groan,  murmured,  '  No,  no,  it  was  only  an 
apparition;  and  like  the  rest,  when  I  attempt 
to  approach  it,  flies  from  me  ; '  and  with  a 
deep  sigh  he  closed  his  eyes. 

Stanley  threw  himself  upon  his  knees,  and 
pressed  the  burning  hand  of  his  friend  repeat 
edly  to  his  lips  and  bosom  ;  while  the  stifled 
sighs  breathed  over  it,  betrayed  his  intense 
emotion.  Arthur  seemed  to  notice  that  some 
one  was  in  distress;  and  starting  upright  in 
bed,  with  one  hand  he  grasped  the  bed  clothes 
convulsively,  and  with  the  other  seemed  try 
ing  to  push  something  from  him.  'O!' 
cried  he,  with  horror  imprinted  on  every  fea 
ture,  '  O  !  she  will  be  killed  !  I  cannot  save 
her  !  See,  the  hoofs  are  now  raised  to  crush 
her  to  the  earth  !  O,  Father  of  mercies,  pro 
tect  her  ! '  covering  his  face  with  his  hands, 
as  if  to  shut  out  the  horrid  sight,  he  fell  back 
exhausted. 

At  a  motion  from  the  'physician,  Ines 
trembling  with  agitation,  and  her  eyes  stream 
ing  with  tears,  now  approached,  and  said  a 
few  soothing  woods  to  him,  which  calmed 
his  agony,  and  he  swallowed  the  cordial 
which  she  again  presented  to  his  lips. 

The  doctor  now  drew  Stanley  gently  away 
from  the  bedside,  and  explained  to  him  all 
that  had  occurred.  Edward  questioned  him 
earnestly  in  regard  to  his  opinion  of  Clifton's 
danger,  and  he  answered  frankly,  that  '  noth 
ing  but  the  most  assiduous  attention  could 
save  him.' 

'  O,  then,'  cried  Stanley,   '  I  will  not  leave 


him  day  or   night;     and  you, 


doctor,    with 
ringing,    will 


whose  skill  the    whole  city   is 
save  him?' 

'  I  will  do  all  in  my  power,'  he  answered, 
'  and  with  the  blessing  of  God  on  our  efforts, 
he  may  be  saved.' 

'  [  suppose  it  is  impossible  to  move  him  ?  ' 
said  Stanley,  inquiringly. 

'  O,  quite  impossible,  it  would  hasten   his 


SENORA  INES. 


17 


dissolution;  and  beside,  when  he  is  in  his 
raving  fits,  no  one  but  the  sweet  Ines  can 
soothe  him.' 

Stanley  regarded  the  lady  with  a  kind  of 
painful  admiration,  for  he  could  not  forget 
that  for  her,  his  friend  had  so  nearly  lost  his 
life. 

Ines  turned  her  eyes  anxiously  upon 
them,  and  approaching  softly,  said,  '  surely 
sir,  you  have  no  intention  of  removing  Mr. 
Clifton  from  here? ' 

The  medical  gentleman  shook  his  head, 
and  Stanley  said  something  of  the  trouble  it 
would  occasion  them. 

'  Trouble,  replied  Ines,  with  a  look  of  re 
proach,  '  could  you  think  it  would  be  esteem 
ed  a  trouble,  when  Mr.  Clifton  has  claims 
upon  my  gratitude,  which  can  never  be  re 
paid.' 

'  Pardon  me,  dear  lady,  I  meant  no  offence  ; 
but  he  is  my  best,  my  dearest  friend,  and 
now,  in  his  present  state,  I  cannot  leave 
him.' 

'  Certainly  not,  sir;  I  am  confident  my 
uncle  will  be  most  happy  to  welcome  to  his 
house  an  intimate  friend  of  Mr.  Clifton. 
But  if  Mr.  Stanley  wishes  the  assurance 
from  his  own  lips — ' 

She  was  at  the  moment  interrupted  by 
the  opening  of  the  doors,  and  Mr.  Hereford 
entered.  He  advanced  directly  to  Mr.  Stan 
ley,  and  offering  his  hand,  expressed  pleasure 
at  seeing  him,  at  the  same  time  begging  him 
to  consider  his  house  his  home  as  long  as  Mr. 
Clifton  remained  an  invalid.  Stanley  ex 
pressed  his  thanks  for  this  privilege,  and  Mr. 
Hereford,  noticing  that  their  friend  was  tran 
quil  lor  a  short  time,  requested  the  pleasure 
of  presenting  him  to  his  lady. 

Stanley  seeming  reluctant  to  leave  his 
friend,  the  doctor  said  it  would  be  much  bet 
ter  to  leave  him  quiet  for  a  time ;  and 
they  accordingly  left  the  room  together. 
Pausing  a  few  moments  before  they 
descended  the  stairs,  Stanley  inquired  if  the 
lady  whose  life  had  been  saved  by  his  friend, 


was  the  niece  he  had  mentioned  the  day  be 
fore. 

'She  is  indeed,'  replied  Mr.  Hereford. 
'  About  twenty-four  years  since,  her  father, 
Don  Carlos  De  Montaldo,  a  Mexican  of  high 
birth,  spent  some  months  in  the  city  of  New 
York,  my  native  place.  Myself,  and  only 
sister  Alice,  orphaned  at  an  early  age,  were 
received  into  the  family  of  a  widowed  uncle, 
who  having  no  children,  adopted  us  as  his 
own ;  where  we  received  every  advantage 
that  wealth  could  bestow.  Don  Carlos  be 
came  acquainted,  and  soon  ardently  attached 
to  Alice,  and  offered  his  hand  and  heart  for 
her  acceptance.' 

'  One  short  week  after  the  proposal,  our 
beloved  uncle  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  apo 
plexy,  which  in  a  few  hours'  terminated  his 
life.  We  sincerely  mourned  his  loss,  for  he 
had  been  to  us  a  second  father.  On  open 
ing  his  will,  it  was  found  that  we  were  left 
sole  heirs  of  his  immense  property;  which 
joined  to  our  own  patrimony,  made  an  almost 
princely  fortune. 

'  Montaldo  remained  another  month  in  the 
city,  and  then  my  loved  Alice  accompanied 
him  home  as  his  bride.  Having  nothing  to 
detain  me  longer  in  New  York,  I  travelled  a 
year  or  two  ;  and  then  wishing  to  be  as  near 
as  possible  to  my  dear  sister,  I  came  to  this 
city,  and  soon  after  led  to  the  altar  one  who 
made  me  the  happiest  of  men. 

1  As  long  as  my  sister  lived,  we  exchanged 
occasional  visits.  I  well  remember  the  last 
time  I  saw  her.  1  had  spent  a  week  with 
them,  anj}  noticed  with  uneasiness  that  her 
heajth  was  failing.  She  was  pale  and  thin, 
and  a  slight  though, constant  cough  was  prey 
ing  upon  her  strength.  Her  husband  looked 
upon  these  evidences  of  disease  with  appre 
hension,  for  he  almost  idolized  her.  She 
had  but  two  children,  the  young  Alphon- 
so,  then  about  fourteen,  and  Ines,  four  years 
younger.  I  did  not  know  that  she  felt  any 
alarm  in  regard  to  her  health,  till  our  part 
ing  ;  when  gazing  upon  her  children  with 
melancholy  tenderness,  she  &aid,  "These 


18 


SENORA  INES. 


(fear  ones,  I  fear,  will  soon  be  left  without 
mother's  guiding  care."  Then  endeavoring 
to  look  more  cheerful,  she  continued,  "  But 
I  do  wrong,  thus  to  cloud  our  parting  hour 
with  such  desponding  reflections.  Adieu, 
dear  brother,  and  should  we  never  meet 
again  on  earth,  let  us  live  so  that  we  may 
meet  in  a  happier  world,  never  more  to  part." 
She  threw  herself  into  her  husband's  arms, 
and  I  turned  away,  with  emotions  too  deep 
to  utter  a  word.  Three  months  after  I  left 
Mexico,  I  received  a  letter  announcing  her 
death.  Though  certainly  anticipated,  I  was 
deeply  shocked  by  the  news.  1  soon  wrote 
to  my  brother-in-law,  with  a  request  that  I 
might  bring  Ines  here,  where  she  could  hare 
every  advantage  of  education,  and  should  in 
every  respect  be  treated  as  my  own  daughter; 
but  he  returned  for  answer  that  he  could  not 
summon  resolution  to  part  with  her  now,  but 
perhaps  sometime  hence  he  might  be  able  to 
do  so. 

'  Two  years  after  that  I  visited  him.  He 
was  very  melancholy,  and  seemed  to  live  only 
in  his  children;  but  at  my  earnest  entreaty, 
consented  that  Ines  might  accompany  me 
home,  his  desire  to  act  for  her  best  interest 
overcoming  his  reluctance  to  part  with  her; 
but  only  on  condition  that  she  should  visit 
him  often,  and  on  finishing  her  education, 
return  to  bless  his  home  with  her  presence. 
She  has  been  with  us  six  years,  and  now  I 
suppose  her  father  will  soon  send  for  her  ; 
but  she  is  dear  to  me  as  my  own  child,  and 
the  parting  will  be  painful  in  the  extreme. 
But  forgive  me,  my  dear  sir,  I  have  de 
tained  you  here  longer  than  I  intended. 

Stanley  assured  him  he  had  listened  with 
pleasure  to  his  interesting  narration  ;  and 
they  now  proceeded  to  the  sitting  room, 
where  Mrs.  Hereford,  her  daughter,  and  Ma 
rie  Dupage  were  sitting.  To  the  former  he 
was  now  presented,  and  having  saluted  the 
young  ladies,  took  a  seat  offered  him.  The 
conversation  was  grave,  mostly  relating  to 
the  sad  accident  of  the  night  before;  and  it' 
Stanley  was  fascinated  by  the  variety  and 


brilliancy  of  Miss  Hereford's  conversa 
tion  at  their  first  meeting,  he  was  now 
charmed  by  the  lovely  expression  of  regret 
and  sympathy,  beaming  from  every  feature. 
The  young  ladies  knew  nothing  of  what  had 
occurred,  till  this  morning,  when  they  rode 
out  with  Monsieur  Dupage. 

Even  the  pleasure  of  the  ladies' society 
could  not  keep  Stanley  long  from  his  friend  ; 
and  he  was  just  rising  to  return  there,  when 
the  doctor  entered.  He  told  his  daughter 
he  was  now  in  readiness  to  go  home,  and 
asked  Miss  Hereford  ifshe  would  not  return 
with  them.  She  smiling  turned  to  her  moth 
er,  who  said  they  could  not  spare  her  any 
longer  at  present.  As  they  retired,  Edward 
followed  them  to  the  door,  and  pressing  the 
physician's  hand,  again  entreated  him  to  pay 
every  attention  to  his  friend  ;  then  ascending 
the  stairs  he  tapped  gently  at  the  door  of 
Clifton's  room,  and  entered.  He  was  lying 
in  a  kind  of  stupor,  the  same  as  when  he  left 
him. 

Advancing  to  Ines,  he  said  he  would  sit  by 
his  friend,  and  relieve  her  from  such  constant 
attendance.  She  thanked  him,  and  repeat 
ing  the  directions  left  by  the  physician,  said 
if  Mr.  Clifton  again  became  raving,  he  would 
find  her  in  the  adjoining  room.  She  then  re 
tired  and  left  him  alone  with  his  thoughts, 
and  his  meditations  were  not  of  the  most 
agreeable  nature.  He  was  alone  in  the 
wide  world,  had  neither  relative  nor  friend, 
who  he  believed  would  sincerely  sympathize 
in  his  joys  or 'Sorrows,  save  hirn  who  lay  be 
fore  him.  The  meeting  of  the  day  before 
with  Alice  Hereford  had  opened  a  new  train 
of  feelings  in  his  bosom.  Ever  strongly  sus 
ceptible  of  beauty  of  mind  and  person,  it  was 
not  singular  that  he  should  be  dazzled  by 
such  pre-eminence  in  both  ;  and  finding  her 
also  possessed  of  sweetness  and  sensibility,  be 
felt  then, even  upon  so  short  an  acquaintance, 
that  the  happiness  of  his  future  life  was  in 
tier  hands.  He  sighed  bitterly  as  he  thought 
how  unavailing,  how  perfectly  hopeless  his 
passion  must  ever  be.  Poor  in  the  posses- 


SENORA  INES. 


19 


sion  of  what  the  world  denominates  wealth, 
though  rich  in  the  treasures  of  mind  and 
heart,  yet  how  could  he  ever  hope  that  the 
rich,  the  brilliant  Miss  Hereford,the  admired 
of  all  admirers,  would  deign  to  look  upon 
him  with  eyes  of  favor. 

He  did  not  hope,  and  he  felt  that  the  only 
way  to  retain  his  peace  of  mind  was  to  ban 
ish  her  image  from  his  thoughts.  Impressed 
with  this  idea,  he  buried  his  face  in  the  bed 
clothes,  exclaiming" : 

'  And  should  I  lose  thee,  my  friend,  my 
brother,  may  the  hour  that  closes  thy  life,  be 
the  last  of  mine.' 

It  might  have  been  an  hour  after  this, 
when  Clifton  awoke  with  a  start,  but  not  as 
his  friend  had  hoped,  with  reason  beaming 
from  his  eyes.  He  again  commenced  raving. 
He  called  upon  his  mother,  his  cousin,  and 
Edward,  alternately ;  then  seemed  to  live 
over  the  scene  he  had  so  lately  passed 
through,  till  his  delirium  became  so  violent, 
that  Edward  stepped  to  the  door  by  which 
Ines  had  disappeared  to  call  her.  Her  hand 
was  on  the  lock,  and  she  immediately  ap 
proached,  and  after  a  long  effort,  succeeded 
in  soothing  her  patient  to  partial  quietude. 
Then  Stanley  stepped  from  the  room,  and 
after  a  few  moments'  consultation  with  Mr. 
Hereford,  a  messenger  was  sent  to  apprise 
Mrs.  Clifton  of  the  dangerous  illness  of  her 
son. 

It  is  needless  to  follow  Clifton's  disease 
through  all  its  course.  Monsieur  Dupage  at 
tended  him  with  all  the  solicitude  of  a  father  ; 
and  Stanley  watched  by  him  day  and  night 
with  a  brother's  devotion,  scarce  leaving  him 
to  take  sufficient  rest  to  support  nature ; 
while  the  lovely  Ines  was  ever  near,  gliding 
like  a  ministering  angel  around  his  couch, 
anticipating  every  want,  and  soothing  him 
into  tranquillity  with  her  low,  soft  voice.  In 
deed  the  whole  family  seemed  to  vie  with 
each  other  in  paying  those  attentions  grati 
tude  prompted  them  to  offer.  On  the  third 
day  the  messenger  sent  to  Mrs.  Clifton  re 
turned  ;  but  came  alone  !  He  delivered  a 


letter  to  Stanley,  from  Dr.  Hunter,  her  fami 
ly  physician.  He  wrote  that  Mrs.  Clifton 
was  very  ill  indeed — having  been  seized  with 
the  pleurisy,  to  which  she  was  subject.  He 
dared  not  communicate  to  her  the  dreadful 
tidings  of  her  son's  danger  ;  in  the  fear  that 
it  would  endanger  her  life — and  nothing  but 
her  extreme  illness  could  prevent  him  in  per 
son,  flying  to  the  bedside  of  one,  whom  he 
regarded  as  a  son.  He  said,  '  he  knew,  of 
course,  Mr.  Stanley  would  secure  the  best 
medical  skill  in  the  city,  to  attend  .upon  his 
friend  ;  and  besought  him  to  write  to  him 
every  day,  and  relieve  his  anxiety.' 

On  the  morning  of  the  fifth  day,  Clifton 
gradually  sunk  into  a  slumber,  so  deep,  so 
deathlike,  that  the  anxious  watchers  by  his 
couch  many  times  bent  over  him,  apprehen 
sive  that  life  had  indeed  departed  ;  but  his 
faint  and  scarcely  perceptible  respiration  pro 
claimed  him  still  an  inhabitant  of  earth. 
About  ten,  at  evening,  M.  Dupage  was  sit 
ting  with  his  fingers  pressed  upon  the  feeble 
pulse  of  his  friend.  Stanley  sat  at  his  foot, 
his  hand  pressed  upon  his  brow ;  and  the 
muscles  of  his  face  working  with  suppressed 
emotion — while  Ines,  the  untiring  Ines,  stood 
at  this  moment  at  his  head,  on  the  opposite 
side,  pale  as  monumental  marble,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  upon  vacancy. 

At  this  moment,  Clifton  drawing  a  deep 
sigh,  opened  his  eyes  !  They  were  entirely 
divested  of  their  feverish  glare,  and  the  light 
of  reason  darted  from  them,  as  he  looked 
about  in  surprise. 

M.  Dupage  motioned  Edward  (who  at  the 
first  movement  of  his  friend  had  sprung  up) 
to  resume  his  seat ;  and  pressing  his  fingers 
on  the  lips  of  Clifton,  who  was  just  unclosing 
them,  he  said  :  *  My  dear  friend,  you  have 
been  sick,  and  are  now  very  weak,  and  if  you 
desire  to  recover,  you  must  not  say  a  word 
at  present.'  Approaching  with  a  draught, 
he  desired  his  patient  to  swallow  it.  He 
obeyed,  and  almost  immediately  fell  into  a 
sweet  and  tranquil  slumber,  from  which  they 
hoped  the  happiest  results. 


CHAPTER  III. 


ON  the  following  morning  Clifton  awoke 
entirely  free  from  fever,  with  his  mind  clear 
and  calm.  M.  Dupage  called  early,  happy  to 
find  that  his  hopes  were  realized,  and  Arthur 
might  be  pronounced  out  of  danger.  He  was 
weak,  so  very  weak  that  he  was  obliged  to 
recline  in  perfect  helplessness  upon  his  couch. 
But  the  fearful  delirium  was  removed,  and 
his  friends  felt  confident  of  his  recovery.  A 
letter  containing  the  joyful  tidings,  was  im 
mediately  despatched  to  Dr.  Hunter. 

M.  Dupage  now  answered  the  eager  inqui 
ries  of  his  friend,  by  detailing  all  that  had 
occurred  since  the  moment  of  his  fall. 

1  But,  my  mother  !  dear  sir,  why  is  she  not 
here?  did  you  not  send  for  her?' 

This  was  explained  to  him,  and  also  that  a 
letter  had  arrived  that  morning,  saying  that 
she  was  now  out  of  danger.  Clifton's  ex 
treme  anxiety  about  his  mother  being  some 
what  relieved  by  this  intelligence,  he  asked 
permission  to  see  his  kind  friends,  that  he 
might  thank  them  for  the  trouble  he  had  oc 
casioned  them.  But  the  doctor  would  not 
allow  that. 

'  Wait  another  day,'  he  said,  '  till  you 
gain  sufficient  strength  to  support  the  exer 


tion.  It  is  absolutely  necessary  you  should 
remain  quiet !  Mr.  Stanley  will  set  by  you, 
and  he  must  remember,  that  much  conver 
sation  will  only  retard  your  recovery — and 
therefore  avoid  it.' 

As  M.  Dupage  left  the  room,  Clifton 
warmly  pressing  the  hand  of  his  friend,  said 
— '  I  may  at  least  have  the  privilege  of  ex 
pressing  my  love  and  gratitude  to  you,  O 
Edward  !  no  brother  could  have  watched 
over  me  more  devotedly  ;  and  as  a  beloved 
brother  1  shall  ever  regard  you.' 

Stanley  returned  the  pressure.  '  O  my 
friend,'  he  cried,  '  the  whole  pleasure  of  my 
life  consist*  in  the  enjoyment  of  your  friend 
ship — and  now  that  you  are  spared  to  me  I 
will  be  happy. 

Though  Clifton  was  not  allowed  to  con 
verse,  yet  his  mind  was  active.  He  felt  the 
most  sincere  thankfulness  to  that  Providence 
who  had  preserved  him  through  so  much 
danger  ;  and  breathed  a  fervent  prayer  to 
Heaven,  that  he  might  ever  remember  from 
whence  came  all  the  blessings  which  were 
showered  upon  him.  The  devoted  affection 
of  Stanley  dwelt  upon  his  mind — and  he  de 
termined  to  discover  if  possible  the  cause  of 


SENORA  INES. 


21 


that  sadness,  which  often  displaced  the  na 
tural  joyousness  of  his  spirits,  and  if  in  his 
power,  relieve  it.  Then  the  image  of  Ines 
ce  Montaldo  flitted  before  his  vision  ;  he 
thought  of  her  as  he  saw  her  in  the  street, 
when  he  sprang  to  her  rescue — and  again  the 
glimpse  of  her  agitated  counetnance,  when 
he  first  opened  his  eyes  from  that  deathlike 
torpor  in  which  his  senses  were  buried,  seem 
ed  fixed  in  his  memory. 

The  next  mornino1  when  the  seal  was  taken 

c  . 

from  his  lips,  Clifton  reminded  Monsieur 
Dupage  of  his  promise  the  previous  day. 

'  Ah,'  cried  the  doctor,  laughingly,  '  I  see 
you  are  eager  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
your  beautiful  nurse — and  well  you  may  be, 
for  she  has  watched  over  you  with  the  care 
of  a  sister.  Indeed,  she  and  our  friend  here,' 
turning  to  Stanley,  '  have  hardly  slept  since 
you  entered  the  house.' 

A  smile  and  a  tear  contended  for  the  mas 
tery,  as  he  listened  to  this  speech.  '  I  shall 
never  forget  such  kindness,'  he  exclaimed, 
'  but  my  dear  Dupage,  do  not  delay  longer  in 
granting  my  wishes.' 

His  friend  immediately  left  the  room,  and 
Clifton  desired  Edward's  assistance  to  raise 
and  support  him  in  bed. 

In  a  few  moments,  Mrs.  Hereford  and 
Alice  entered  ;  approaching  they  expressed 
the  warmest  pleasure  at  the  prospect  of  his 
recovery — and  in  reply  to  his  animated  ac 
knowledgements,  exclaimed,  '  O,  do  not 
mention  obligations,  we  are  the  obliged. 
You  have  nobly  risked  your  life,  to  save  one 
very  dear  to  us,  and  for  which  we  must  ever 
feel  the  liveliest  gratitude.' 

Clifton's  eyes  now  wandered  over  the 
room,  in  search  of  the  dear  one  alluded  to, 
iiiit  with  a  look  erf  disappointment,  he  turned 
them  upon  Mrs.  Hereford.  Divining  the 
meaning  of  the  glance,  she  answered  with  a 
playful  smile,  '  Donna  Ines  will  be  here  im 
mediately.' 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  she 
entered,  leaning  upon  the  doctor's  arm.  As 
they  approached,  she  left  him,  and  advancing, 


eagerly  exclaimed  :  '  Permit  me  to  express 
a  small  part  of  the  gratitude  I  owe  you,  for 
preserving  my  life,  at  such  imminent  risk  of 
your  own.  O,  sir,  the  most  fervent  blessings 
of  my  only  parent  will  be  bestowed  upon 
the  preserver  of  his  child.  Had  you  not  done 
what,  perhaps,  none  others  in  like  circum 
stances  would  have  attempted,  I  must  inev 
itably  have  been  crushed  under  those  up 
raised  hoofs.'  Then  covering  her  eyes  with 
her  hand,  <  O  !'  she  cried,  'that  dreadful 
scene  makes  me  shudder  even  now.  I  can 
never  speak  half  my  gratitude.' 

•'  Dear  lady,'  answered  Clifton,  '  you  owe 
me  no  gratitude,  the  act  was  involuntary. 
But  I  feel  grateful  to  kind  Providence  which 
enabled  me  to  save  the  life  of  one  so  very  dear 
to  her  friends.  But,  my  thanks  are  due  to 
you,  madam,  for  your  kind  watchfulness  over 
me  since  I  have  been  a  troublesome  invalid 
in  this  house.1 

'  What  little  it  has  been  in  my  power  to 
do,'  cried  Ines,  blushing,  and  retreating  to  a 
seat,  '  has  been  very  slight,  in  return  for  so 
great  a  service.' 

Clifton's  eyes  followed  her,  admiration 
speaking  from  every  feature;  but  observing 
thatehe  was  embarrassed  by  his  fixed  gaze, 
he  turned  away  and  reclined  in  fatigue  upon 
the  pillows. 

Mr.  Hereford.,  who  had  before  stolen  in  to 
offer  his  thanks  and  congratulations,  now  en 
tered,  and  joined  the  happy  group. 
^The  considerate  physician,  however,  soon 
reminded  them  that  hi*  patient  needed  re 
pose  :  but  he  hoped  in  a  few  days  he  should 
be  able  to  transport  him  to  the  parlor,  where 
he  could  enjoy  their  society  with  more  com 
fort.  The  company  obeying  his  directions, 
our  twofriends  were  left  alone. 

Let  us  pass  over  an  interval  of  eight  days, 
and  introduce  our  readers  into  JMr.  Here 
ford's  parlor,  where  a  pleasant  party  were  as 
sembled — near  a  window  which  looked  oat 
upon  a  delightful  garden,  containing  a  varie 
ty  of  rare  and  splendid  plants,  sat  Mrs.  Here 
ford,  employed  uppn  a  piece  of  embroidery. 


22 


SENORA  INES, 


Her  daughter  was  sitting  by  a  table  covered 
with  books— in  the  centre  of  which  stood  a 
vase  of  the  rarest  flowers,  diffusing  their  rich 
perfume  through  the  room.  Stanley  stood 
over  her,  slowly  turning  the  leaves  of  a  col 
lection  of  splendid  engravings  which  he  had 
just  obtained,  and  was  now  pointing  put  the 
beauties  of  different  scenes. 

Reclining  on  a  sofa  by  an  open  window, 
our  invalid  was  examining  some  new  music  ; 
but  his  eyes  often  roamed  to  the  face  of  Se- 
nora  Ines,  who  sat  a  short  distance  from  him, 
twining  a  wreath  for  a  lovely  girl  who  stood 
by  her  side.  Mademoiselle  Dupage  was  ad 
miring  her  work,  and  twining  her  fingers  in 
the  ribbon  of  a  guitar. 

Suddenly  Clifton  handed  Ines  a  piece  of 
music,  begging  that  she  would  oblige  him  by 
singing  it.  She  took  it,  and  glancing  over  it 
with  a  smile,  took  her  guitar  and  running  her 
fingers  lightly  over  the  strings,  sang  in  a 
voice  of  melting  sweetness,  that  sweet  song, 

'  Though  'tis  all  but  a  dream,  &c.' 

As  the  last  words  died  upon  her  lips,  Clifton 
expressed  his  eager  delight.  '  That  is  a  fa 
vorite  of  my  dear  cousin  Helen,'  said  Jie.  '  I 
have  often  listened  to  that  song,  as  the  rich 
tones  of  her  voice  floated  in  my  ear,  with  the 
melodious  accompaniment  of  that  exquisite 
instrument — and  thought  nothing  could  ex 
ceed  it.' 

'  Ah,'  cried  the  lively  Marie,  '  I  presume 
your  raptures  were  not  occasioned  so  much 
by  the  music,  as  the  fair  perfor.mer.  If  re 
port  speaks  truth,  that  dear  cousin  Helen 
will  soon  become  "  une  cherir  epouse." 

1  She  is  already  dear  to  me  as  a  sister,'  he 
answered  smiling.  '  Her  last  term  at  school 
closes  to-morrow  ;  and  unless  my  mother  has 
informed  her  otherwise,  she  will  look  for  me 
to  accompany  her  home.  It  would  give  me 
great  pleasure,'  he  continued,  turning  to  Ines, 
'  to  present  her  to  you.  I  am  confident  you 
would  be  mutually  pleased  with  each  other. 
Indeed  to  my  mind  there  is  a  striking  re 
semblance  between  her*  and  yourself.' 


The  heart  of  Ines  palpitated  forcibly  at  thw> 
remark — but  summoned  sufficient  resolution 
to  answer  as  politeness  dictated. 

Stanley,  who  had  turned  to  listen,  as  the 
first  strain  of  music  fell  upon  his  ear,  now 
advanced  and  said  :  '  I've  never  had  the  plea 
sure  of  seeing  Miss  Douglass,  but  have  often 
heard  the  gentlemen  in  the  vicinity  of  her  re 
sidence  speak  with  rapture  of  her  unequalled 
attractions.  They  described  her  as  being 
beautiful  as  the  creation  of  a  dream — and 
sportive  as  a  poet's  fancy.  The  poor  fami 
lies  around  worshipped  her  very  name — while 
her  adopted  mother  and  brother  almost  idol 
ized  her;  and  if  our  friend  Clifton  should 
endeavor  to  secure  such  loveliness  as  his 
own,  none  of  us  could  blame,  however  we 
gentlemen  might  be  disposed  to  envy  him 
such  happiness.' 

'  It  is  fortunate  that  you  never  met  her,' 
exclaimed  Marie,  glancing  mischievously  at 
Miss  Hereford,  '  as  you  probably  would  have 
had  neithejr  eyes  nor  ears  for  any  of  the  pre 
sent  company.  Do  you  not  think  so,  my  dear 
Ines  ?'. 

'  Assuredly,'  she  answered,  raising  her  dark 
eyes  with 'a  smile.  '  Mr.  Stanley  seems  so 
much  struck  by  the  description  of  the  lady, 
that  should  be  meet  her,  Mr.  Clifford  might 
find  a  powerful  rival  in  his  friend.' 

The  gentleman  smiled,  and  returned  a 
sportive  answer  to  this  remark,  while  Miss 
Hereford  raised  her  eyes  to  Edward's  face — 
but  meeting  his  in  the  same  direction,  averted 
them  hastily,  and  busied  herself  in  tearing  in 
pieces  a  beautiful  rose  which  she  held  in  her 
fingers.  At  this  moment,  Mr,  Hereford  en 
tered  the  room,  and  advancing  to  Clifton,  pre 
sented  him  a  letter;  then  turning  to  Ines,  h, 
said  :  '  And  I  have  one  for  you  too,  my  swsei 
niece,  but  I  dread  to  know  its  contents,  as  I 
fear  it  will  decree  our  parting.' 

She  received  the  letter,  and  excusing  her 
self  to  the  company,  flew  to  her  chamber  to 
peruse  it. 

Mr.  Hereford  seeing  that  Ar?har  hesitated 
about  opening  his  letter,  said,  'the  company 


SENORA  INES. 


23 


would  readily  excuse  him.'  Bowing  his 
thanks,  he  broke  the  seal  and  read.  It  was 
from  his  mother !  saying  that  she  was  much 
better,  but  still  quite  feeble — and  conjuring 
him  if  able  to  be  carried  home,  to  come  to 
her  immediately  ;  as  she  could  not  feel  as 
sured  of  his  safety,  till  convinced  by  his  pre 
sence.  She  said,  Doctor  Hunter  had  gone 
to  accompany  Helen  home,  and  she  was  quite 
alone.  As  Clifton  communicated  his  moth 
er's  wishes,  and  said  he  must  leave  them  the 
next  day — every  voice  was  raised  in  opposi 
tion,  saying  they  were  assured  he  would  bring 
on  a  relapse  by  such  exertion.  He  thanked 
them  for  their  kind  wishes,  but  remained  firm 
in  his  resolution  of  going.  Turning  to  Stan 
ley,  who  stood  gazing  upon  him,  silent  and 
melancholy,  at  the  prospect  of*  their  separa 
tion,  he  extended  his  hand  and  said  smi 
ling  :  '  My  dear  friend,  I  have  already  been  a 
great  trouble  to  you,  but  will  you  add  still 
more  to  the  obligation,  and  take  the  charge 
of  seeing  me  safe  home  ?' 

Edward  advanced  eagerly,  '  O,  indeed  I 
shall  be  but  too  happy  to  be  allowed  the  priv 
ilege.' 

At  this  moment  the  door  bell  rung,  and 
Monsieur  Dupage  was  shown  in.  '  Well,  my 
dear  father,'  cried  Marie,  running  up  to  him, 
'  you  are  going  to  lose  your  troublesome 
patient  here.  His  lady  mother  has  sent  an 
express  command  to  take  him  home.  I  sup 
pose  she  fears  the  attractions  of  some  of  us 
ladies  may  be  sufficiently  powerful  to  over 
come  the  citadel  of  his  heart !'  Her  father 
patted  her  cheek  affectionately,  and  turning 
to  Clifton,  demanded  if  what  she  said  wa 
true.  Being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  he 
was" going  to  express  his  decided  disapproba 
tion,  but  Arthur  reading  the  intention  in  his 
look,  cried,  '  my  dear  friend,  do  not  atternp 
to.dissuade  me  from  going  home.  The  time 
passed  on  a  sick  bed  ha?  with  me  been  be 
guiled  of  its  weariness,  by  the  agreeable  so 
ciety  of  friends;  but  with  my  dear  mother 
i^  must  have  passed  on  leaden  wings,  uncheer 
ed  by  the  presence  of  either  of  her  children 


t  is  certainly  but  due   to  her,  that  I  go  im 
mediately,  even  at  the  risk  of  very  much  fa- 
igue.' 

Finding  it  impossible  to  change  his  deter 
mination,  •  the  benevolent  Dupage  said  no 
more. 

The  ever  gay  Marie  repeated  to  him  a 
dozen  messages  to  his  mother  and  Helen — 
hen  seeing  that  her  father  was  waiting  for 
ler,  she  cried,  '  well,  1  can  stay  no  longer,  so 
good-by,  "jusqu  au  revoir ;"  '  and  shaking 
lands  with  him  she  flew  from  the  room. 

The    next    moment    Ines    returned ;  her 

rierids  glanced  inquiringly  into  her  face,  and 

>y  the  changes  of  her  countenance,  and  tear- 

ul  eyes,  at  once  conjectured  that  they  were 

soon  to  lose  her. 

Handing  the  letter  to  her  uncle,  she  took 
iier  seat  by  Alice,  and  told  her  that  in  less 
than  three  weeks  her  brother  would  come  to 
take  her  to  her  father.  He  wrote  that  he 
was  very  lonely ;  and-  nothing  but  her  dear 
aresence  could  restore  him  to  cheerfulness. 
He  also  requested  her  to  write  her  cousin 
to  spend  a  year  with  them.  This  request  she 
now  made  to  her  uncle,  looking«eagerly  into 
his  face,  to  catch  the  first  look  of  consent. 
But  he  shook  his  head,  with  a  smile,  and  a 
sigh,  as  he  answered,  '  no,  no,  we  cannot 
part  with  both  of  you  at  one  time.  If  it  was 
not  that  your  father's  low  spirits  plead  so 
strongly  for  your  society,  we  could  not  think 
of  your  leaving  us  at  all.  Bull  suppose  fee 
Jias  the  first  claim,'  and  he  turned  away  to 
hide  his  emotion. 

'When  do  you  go,  Senora?'  asked  Stan 
ley.  ^ 

'  In  less  than  three  weeks  !' 

'  So  soon  /'  exclaimed  Clifton,  starting,  and 
raising  his  eyes  to  her  face.  '  So  soon,  and 
you  may  perhaps  never  return.' 

'  Probably  not  indeed !'  she  answered 
blushing,  and  turning  away. 

The  conversation  after  this  was  anything 
but  cheerful,  and  they  separated  early— Stan? 
ley  going  to  their  hotel  to  arrange  every 
thing  for  their  journey  on  the  rootrow. 


SENORA  INES. 


We  will  now  follow  Ines  de  Montaldo,  for 
a  few  moments  to  her  room.  As  she  entered, 
her  maid  lighted  a  pair  of  lamps  which  stood 
upon  the  table,  and  remained  standing,  await 
ing  the  pleasure  of  her  mistress.  Ines  paced 
the  room  a  few  moments  in  seeming  agita 
tion  ;  then  recollecting  herself,  told  the  girl 
who  was  watching  her  attentively,  that  she 
would  dispense  with  her  services  any  farthef, 
and  she  might  go  to  her  rest. 

As  she  retired,  Ines  resumed  her  agitated 
walk,  till  pausing  in  front  of  a  mirror,  she 
glanced  at  the  pale  face  reflected  in  it,  and 
ejaculated :  '  How  inconsiderate  have  I 
been,  thus  to  allow  the  image  of  this  Clifton 
to  be  ever  present  in  my  thoughts.  Might  I 
not  have  known  that  he  was  in  all  proba 
bility  attached  to  this  lovely  Helen,  when  he 
was  constantly  speaking  in  sucji  high  terms 
of  her  ?  And  yet,  I  never  imagined  that  what 
I  felt  for  him,  was  anything  but  gratitude, 
till  my  friend  Marie  rallied  him  upon  his  pen 
chant  for  his  cousin  !  Then,  I  first  learned 
my  own  heart,  when  a  pang  shot  through  it 
at  the  idea. 

'  O  !  weaK,  thoughtless  girl  !  But  I  am 
punished  !  He  goes  to-morrow,  and  will 
never  bestow  a  thought  upon  her,  who  will 
soon  be  so  far  away.'  She  threw  herself  in 
to  a  chair,  while  the  pearly  tear-drops  cours 
ed  slowly  over  her  cheeks.  Then,  in  spite 
of  her  determination  to  be  miserable,  the  look 
he  had  several  times  cast  upon  her,  made  her 
heart  beat  faster,  as  she  felt  there  was  som£ 
thing  beside  indifference  expressed  in  it. 

'  But  jvhy  should  I  wish  to  inspire  emo 
tions  in  him,  which  can  never  end  in  hap 
piness  ?  O  my  father  !  why  intent  upon  that 
hateful  match?  When  so  affectionate  and 
kind  in  everything  else — why  doom  your 
child  to  perfect  misery,  by  forcing  upon  her 
a  man  she  abhors?  But  O,  there  is  some 
thing  wrong  in  my  heart !  He  says  his  peace 
of  mind  here  and  hereafter,  depend  upon  my 
fulfilling  a  promise  which  he  has  solemnly 
sworn  should  not  be  broken!  '  O  merciful 
God  !'  she  continued,  falling  on  her  knees, 


'  forgive  my  hesitation,  and  give  me  strength 
to  do  my  duty,  whatever  that  may  be.'  She 
rose  more  composed,  and  hurrying  through 
her  toilette,  endeavored  to  seek  forgetfulness 
in  sleep. 

The  next  morning,  the  family  assembled 
with  their  guest,  when  Stanley  entered,  say 
ing  a  carriage  was  at  the  door  to  take  them 
to  the  boat.  Clifton  again  repeated  his  thanks 
to  his  friends,  for  the  attention  he  had  re 
ceived — and  Ines  advanced  to  repeat  her 
soul's.gratitude  to  her  preserver. 

Her  lip  quivered,  and  her  face  was  paler 
than  its  wont,  as  she  said  :  '  Mr.  Clifton,  it 
is  probable  we  may  never  meet  again,  but  my 
warmest  prayers  will  ever  be  offered  up  for 
one  who  so  truly  merits  them.' 

Arthur  pressed  her  hand  a  moment  in  both 
his  own — then  dropping  it  as  suddenly,  ex 
claimed  :  '  Think  not,  dear  lady,  this  is  our 
last  meeting.  I  have  nearly  obtained  a  pro 
mise  from  Mr.  Hereford,  to  bring  this  fair 
company,  bowing  to  the  ladies,  to  La  Grange 
Villa,  to  spend  a  few  days.  But,  even  should 
I  be  disappointed  in  this,  hope,  I  shall  most 
assuredly  return  to  the  city  before  you  leave. 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  he  turned  away, 
bowed  to  the  rest — and  leaning  for  support 
upon  the  arm  of  Stanley,  proceeded  slowly  to 
the  carriage.  As  they  reached  it,  Mr.  Du- 
page  who  was  coming  to  take  leave  of  his 
friend,  slopped  by  his  side. 

'  Ah  !  I  am  very  happy  to  see  you,  doctor  ; 
we  were  going  to  drive  to  your  house,  but  this 
is  better.'  And  as  he  spoke,  Clifton  pressed 
a  hundred  dollar  note  in  his  hand. 

The  physician  looked  at  it  a  moment,  then 
returned  it  with  a  smile.  '  You  forget  that 
I  never  take  recompense  for  attendance  upon 
the  sick.' 

'  But,  my  dear  sir,  I  do  not  consider  my 
self  an  object  of  charity,  and  therefore  must 
insist  upon  your  taking  it !  If  you  cannot 
use  it — there  are  surely  enough  about  you, 
on  whom  to  bestow  charity  ' 

'  Possessing  a  fortune  far  exceeding  my 
wants,'  cried  his  friend,  .'  1  assure  you  an 


SENORA  INES. 


. 
25 


addition  to  it  would  only  be  a  trouble  to  me.' 
And  turning  away  with  a  deep  sigh,  in  a  mo 
ment  was  out  of  sight. 

'  Ah !'  thought  Stanley,  '  these  men  are 
consulting  about  the  easiest  means  of  throw 
ing  away  their  overbundance  ;  while  I  have 
not  sufficient  for  even  the  necessaries  of  life.' 


As  these   thoughts  passed  through  his  mind, 
a  torturing  sigh  burst  from  his  bosom. 

Clifton  looked  around  to  discover  the 
meaning  of  that  sigh — but  his  friend  with  a 
powerful  effort  recovered  his  cheerfulness — 
and  they  rode  rtiward  to  the  boat  that  was  to 
waft  them  homeward. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


In  struggling  with  misfortunes, 

Lies  the  proof  of  virtue. — SHAKSPEARE. 


IT  was  the  third  day  after  the  incidents 
mentioned  in  the  last  chapter,  that  our  friends 
were  seated  in  the  portico  of  La  Grange  Villa. 
Mrs.  Clifton  was  reclining  on  a  sofa,  which 
had  been  rolled  out  to  this  delightful  spot. 
Bare  creeping  vines  wound  round  the  pillars 
and  over  the  roof,  falling  on  every  side  in 
rich  festoons,  sparkling  with  flowers,  which 
shed  a  grateful  perfume  upon  the  air.  The 
sun  was  just  sinking  below  the  horizon,  en 
veloped  in  a  veil  of  burnished  gold,  while  a 
train  of  white  fleecy  clouds,  floating  modestly 
at  a  distance,  seemed  waiting  his  majesty's 
pleasure,  to  attend  upon  his  nightly  slumbers. 
The  broad  bosom  of  the  river  was  dotted  here 
afid  there  with  sails,  while  a  noble  steamer 
was  ploughing  its  way  majestically  through 
the  waves. 

Our  friends  had  been  for  some  time  expa 
tiating  upon  the  splendors  of  the  evening, 
when  Clifton,  turning  his  eyes  up  the  road, 
exclaimed  in  delight,  '  Here  they  come ! 
dear,  dear  Ellen !'  and  starting  up  would 
have  flown  to  meet  her  but  falling  back  in 
his  seat,  he  cried  with  a  smile,  'I  believe  I 
am  not  a  very  nirnble  pedestrian  just  now.' 


Half  a  dozen  servants,  lounging  about  the 
grounds,  heard  his  voice,  and  screaming, ,'  O, 
Missy  Helen  has  come !'  started  off,  each 
doing  his  best  to  first  reach  and  open  the 
gate  for  their  dear  young  mistress. 

As  the  carriage  rolled  up  the  avenue,  and 
paused  just  in  front  of  our  party,  a  gentleman 
opening  the  door  stepped  out,  and  the  next 
instance,  almost  without  assistance,  a  young 
lady  alighted  upon  the  ground.  Darting  up 
the  steps  she  threw  her  arms  affectionately 
around  Mrs.  Clifton,  and  inquired  eagerly 
about  her  health.  '  My  dear,  dear  mother  !' 
she  cried,  '  I  have  come  home  now,  never 
more  to  leave  you  ;'  then  kissing  her  p;tle 
cheek,  she  turned  with  a  smile  full  of  happi 
ness  to  Arthur,  who,  opening  his  arms,  clasp 
ed  her  to  his  heart,. and  imprinted  a  brother's 
kiss  on  her  glowing  cheek.  Rising  from  his 
arms,  she  first  perceived  Stanley,  who  had 
drawn  back  under  the  overhanging  vines. 
Blushing  and  confused  she  extended  her  hand 
as  Arthur  presented  his  friend  ;  but  recover 
ing  in  a  moment,  she  answered  his  compli 
ments  with  ease  and  grace.  Doctor  Hunter, 
after  exchanging  a  few  words  of  greeting 


SENORA  INES. 


with  the  gentlemen,  took  his  leave,  saying  he 
would  not  interrupt  so  happy  a  party.  Miss 
Douglass  now  sat  down  'between  her  aunt  and 
cousin,  and  listened  with  sparkling  eyes  to 
their  expressions  of  affection,  and  joy  at  her 
return. 

As  Stanley  gazed  upon  the  happy  trio,  he 
thought  of  the  sad  contrast  to  his  own  lonely 
state  ;  a  stranger,  and  almost  penniless.  He 
envied  them  such  felicity  ;  but  it  was  not  such 
envy  as  would  have  blasted  their  pleasure, 
because  he  could  not  enjoy  the  same.  O,  no, 
the  greatest  enjoyment  he  could  now  expect 
would  be  in  witnessing  the  happiness  of  his 
friends.  As  he  gazed  on  Miss  Douglass, -he 
thought  the  half  had  not  been  told  him  of  her 
exceeding  loveliness.  She  was  about  the 
medium  height ;  her  form  was  slender  and 
delicately  proportioned  ;  her  hair  of  that  pe 
culiarly  rich  shade,  the  golden  auburn,  fell  in 
natural  ringlets  upon  a  neck  of  snow.  Her 
skin  was  of  dazzling  fairness,  and  so  very 
transparent,  that  the  small  blue  veins  were 
clearly  discernible.  Her  eyes,  of  heaven's 
own  blue,  flashed  at  one  time  with  intellect 
and  wit ;  at  another,  timidly,  languidly  look 
ed  out  from  beneath  their  long  silken  lashes  ; 
and  when  she  smiled,  innumerable  graces 
played  around  her  small,  exquisitely  formed 
mouth.  When  her  features  were  at  rest,  she 
seemed  perfectly  beautiful ;  but  when  vivac 
ity  sparkled  from  her  eyes,  and  anima^on 
lent  a  warmer  hue  to  her  cheek,  she.  was  per 
fectly  bewitching. 

As  .Stanley  gazed  upon  this  lovely  being, 
he  wondered  how  it  was  possible  that  Clifton 
could  look  upon  her  only  as  a  sister  ;  but 
that  this  was  so,  he  was  convinced,  by  his 
manner  towards  her.  As  our  invalids  were 
fearful  of  the  evening  air,  they  now  proposed 
returning  within  the  house.  The  conversa 
tion  here  became  more  connected  and  gen 
eral,  in  which  Stanley  joined  ;  and  he  now 
found  that  Helen's  mind  was  as  lovely  as  her 
person.  But  the  fate  of  his  heart  was  already 
decided,  and  even  her  varied  charms  could 
not  win  him  from  his  allegiance  to  her  who 


occupied  his  thoughts.  In  consideration  of 
Helen's  fatiguing  journey  the  party  separated 
early. 

Clifton  and  his  friend  retired  together. 
Their  rooms  were  on  the  second  floor,  and 
looked  out  upon  a  delightful  shrubbery,  where 
the  delicious  orange  and  lemon  were  inter 
spersed  with  various  flowery  shrubs.  Draw 
ing  seats  near  the  open  windows,  they  gazed 
out  upon  the  blue  night  vault,  studded  with 
myriads  of  stars,  and  listened  to  the  low  mur 
muring  of  the  wind,  sighing  through  the 
trees ;  until  a  soft  and  pleasing  melancholy 
stole  over  their  senses. 

Suddenly  Clifton  turned  to  his  friend.  '  My 
dear  Edward,  what  time  more  fitting  than  the 
present,  to  listen  to  the  relation  you  promised 
me  some  time  since  V 

Stanley  sat  a  few  moments  silent  and  sad  ; 
then  rousing  himself  with  an  effort,  he  an 
swered,  '  It  is  indeed  due  to  your  noble  friend 
ship,  to  let  you  know  who  you  have  taken 
into  your  home,  and  treated  as  a  brother. 
Nothing  but  pride,  false  pride  perhaps  you 
will  deem  it,  has  hitherto  prevented  my  dis 
closing  some  events  in  my  past  life,  which  it 
is  not  very  agreeable  to  recall. 

'  I  was  the  only  child  of  affectionate  parents, 
who,  though  possessed  of  but  small  fortune, 
were  sure  of  a  welcome  into  the  gayest  cir 
cles  of  the  fashionable  world  ;  yet  retiring 
within  themselves  they  found  more  sincere 
pleasure  than  they  could  ever  enjoy  when 
mingling  with  the  giddy  throng.  I  was  but 
two  years  old  when  my  father  died ;  too 
young  to  realize  the  loss ;  and  in  two  years 
my  mother  married  again.  My  fath.gr,  at  his 
death,  was  just  established  in  business,  with  a 
capital  of  twenty  thousand  dollars.  This  was 
placed  in  the  funds  to  accumulate  for  my 
benefit,  as  my  moiher  had  a  handsome  annu 
ity  in  her  own  right.  My  mother's  husband, 
Mr.  Melmoth,  was  one  of  the  finest  men  the 
world  ever  produced.  In  the  course  of  four 
years  they  were  blessed  with  a  son  and  daugh 
ter.  We  were  constantly  together,  and  our 
affection  increased  with  our  years.  Our  pa- 


SENORA  INES. 


27 


rents  were  very  fond  of  us ;  and  I  never  per 
ceived  that  Mr.  Melmoth  treated  me  any  less 
tenderly  than  he  did  his  own  children. 

'  I  was  sixteen  years  of  age  when  my  dear 
mother  was  carried  off  suddenly  by  a  violent 
fever.  I  was  in  college  at  the  time ;  and 
though  I  then  felt  her  death  severely,  yet 
when  I  spent  some  time  at  home  during  a 
vacation,  and  missed  her  loved  presence — 
knowing  that  she  could  never  return  to  us — 
my  heart  was  almost  broken. 

'  The  house  was  robed  in  gloom  !  My  fa 
ther  confined  himself  at  home,  and  refused 
all  society ;  we  united  our  efforts  to  cheer 
him;  and  at  last  were  happy  to  see  him 
aroused  to  exertion.  He  smiled  upon  our 
efforts,  and,  at  least,  in  our  presence,  sum 
moned  cheerfulness  to  his  countenance. 

'  My  young  brother,  Francis,  was  a  noble 
boy.  He  devoted  most  of  his  time  to  study, 
and  was  very  young  prepared  for  college. 
My  sister  Rose  was  a  sweet  playful  little  fairy, 
who  twined  herself  around  my  heart,  with  the 
most  endearing  tenderness.  She  possessed  a 
fragile  constitution,  and  our  friends  often 
said,  "  she  would  not  long  be  spared  to  us." 
I  returned  to  college,  and  remained  till  with 
in  a  few  weeks  of  the  period  when  I  should 
attain  my  majority.  The  two  last  years 
Francis  had  been  with  me. 

'  About  a  year  previous  to  this,  my  father 
had  married  a  young  lady  of  great  beauty,  but 
without  fortune.  On  my  first  introduction  to 
her,  something  in  her  face  and  manner  made 
a  disagreeable  impression  upon  my  mind. 
She  flattered  and  fawned  around  her  husband, 
but  I  could  not  dismiss  the  idea  that  she 
would  bring  misery  into  the  house  which  had 
always  been  the  seat  of  happiness. 

'  She  seemed  to  dislike  me  too,  as  if  sus 
pecting  my  feelings  towards  her.  There  was 
a  man  who  visited  often  at  our  house,  whom 
she  had  introduced  as  her  brother  ;  and  as 
such,  he  received  a  cordial  welcome  from  my 
unsuspecting  father.  I  remained  at  home 
but  a  few  weeks,  and  then  announced  my 
resolution  of  going  to  Europe.  Mr.  Melmoth 


did  not  oppose  it,  but  told  me  not  to  draw 
upon  what  had  been  placed  in  security  for 
me,  until  I  returned.  He  then  presented  me 
with  a  large  sum  in  ready  money,  and  author 
ized  me  to  draw  upon  his  banker  for  what 
ever  I  wished  during  my  travels.  My  first 
impulse  was  to  refuse  this  gift ;  but  he  said, 
"  You  have  always  been  to  me  an  affectionate 
son  ;  and  dd  not  now  refuse  me  the  pleasure 
of  acting  like  a  father  ;  beside,  the  remains 
of  the  fortune  your  dear  mother  brought  me, 
cannot  be  better  appropriated." 

'  I  could  not  refuse  and  wound  his  feelings, 
and  therefore  accepted  it.  I  took  a  tender 
leave  of  my  dear  sister,  and  noble  brother, 
and  left  my  country  for  a  far  distant  land. 

'  I  will  pass  over  four  years,  during  which 
I  remained  abroad.  I  had  heard  often  from 
all  the  dear  ones  at  home,  till  the  last  year  of 
my  absence.  I  wrote  repeatedly  after  that, 
but  received  no  answers.  In  despair,  I  wrote 
to  my  father's  attorney,  whom  I  had  reason 
to  believe,  was  warmly  attached  to  the  fami 
ly  ;  but  too  impatient  to  await  a  reply,  I  set 
out  in  a  week  after.  On  arriving  at  New  Or 
leans,  I  flew  to  my  father's  mansion ;  but 
judge  of  my  horror,  when  his  wife  met  me  in 
the  hall,  and  in  reply  to  my  inquiries  for  him, 
presented  her  pretended  brother  as  her  hus 
band.  She  then  assuming  a  look  of  sorrow, 
told  me  that  my  father,  brother,  sister,  were 
all  dead  ;  that  my  sister  died  some  months 
since,  and  my  father  and  brother  within  a  few 
weeks. 

'  "  And  you,  madam,  have  married  again  in 
such  indecent  haste  ! "  My  surprise  and 
contempt  of  her  conduct  forced  this  remark 
from  me,  even  in  the  first  burst  of  my  grief. 

'  Provoked  by  my  words  and  looks,  she 
taunted  me  with  the  disgrace  which  had  fallen 
upon  my  family.  She  said  my  father  had  be 
come  a  perfect  inebriate,  and  had  cut  off  hi.s 
children  without  a  dollar,  making  a  will  en 
tirely  in  her  favor  ;  that  my  brother  had  left 
cr  Hege,  and  when  his  father  refused  him  any- 
tl.i  ig  more  to  support  his  extravagances,  had 
taken  lu  o-arrbling;  and  being  reduced  to 
,  b 


28 


SENORA  INES. 


distress,  had  claimed  and  received  my  fortune,  |  my  patrimony  was  secured,  was  near  it,  I  de- 


by  assuming  my  name,  and  had  by  gambling 
lost  it  all.  That  my  sister,  before  she  died, 
but  here  she  paused,  as  the  expression  of  my 
eyes  probably  told  her  she  was  venturing  too 
far. 

•  I  had  listened  to  her  horrid  account,  with 
emotions  that  paralyzed  every  faculty  ;  but 
when  she  mentioned  my  sister,  as  one  whp 
had  assisted  in  bringing  disgrace  upon  me — 
an  angel,  whose  name  from  every  other 
tongue  was  purity  itself — my  indignation 
burst  all  bounds,  and  had  she  said  another 
word,  though  a  woman,  I  believe  I  should 
have  struck-  her  to  the  earth.  As  soon  as  I 
gained  sufficient  command  of  my  voice,  I  de 
nied  her  allegations  with  vehemence  and  con 
tempt  ;  but  she  told  me  with  perfect  coolness 
that  there  was  legal  proof  of  her  words ;  and 
she  glanced  at  him  she  called  her  husband, 
who  immediately  disappeared. 

'  In  a  few  moments  he  returned  and  handed 
me  the  will,  which  I  found  as  she  said,  en 
tirely  in  her  favor,  and  regularly  signed  and 
attested  by  several  witnesses.  I  took  the 
names  of  the  attorney  and  witnesses,  telling 
her  she  might  yet  find  herself  unmasked  to 
the  world  in  her  true  character. 

'  She  defied  me  to  injure  her,  and  said  the 
reputation  of  my  father  and  family  was  too 
well  known  in  the  city,  and  that  I  would  only 
gain  hisses  and  scorn  for  my  trouble. 

4  Disdaining  toexcnange  another  word  with 
one  so  contemptible,  I  rushed  from  the  house. 
Proceeding  instantly  to  Mr.  Melrnoth's  attor 
ney,  imagine  my  disappointment  when 


termined  once  more  to  visit  it.  On  reaching 
the  bank,  I  found  what  I  had  heard  was  but 
too  true!  My  fortune  had  been  drawn  by- 
some  one  in  my  name  ;  and  by  the  description, 
it  was  my  brother.  The  receipt  also  was  given 
in  his  hand,  with  ?/M/'name  attached.  My 
mind  was  harassed  and  torn,  by  contending 
emotions,  until  I  was  almost  distracted  ;  but 
when  I  reached  the  plantation,  and  the  old 
house  servants  crowded  around  me  with  ex 
clamation  of  delighted  surprise,  each  one 
showing  his  affection  for  me,  in  his  own  sim 
ple  way,  I  felt  that  I  was  not  yet  entirely 
alone  in  the  world.  I  could  gain  no  informa 
tion  from  them  about  the  late  events  ;  they 
had  only  received  the  notice  that  their  mas 
ter  and  all  his  children,  myself  included,  were 
dead  ;  and  that  his  wife  was  heir  to  all  he 
possessed. 

"'OS"  cried  the  aged  housekeeper,  "  it 
was  a  sad  day  for  us,  when  your  lady  mother 
died  ;  and  then  to  think  that  sweet  Miss  Rose 
must  go  too;  and  now  all  gone  but  you!" 
and  she  commenced  weeping  violently,  in 
which  the  rest  united.  I  could  bear  no  more, 
and  springing  up,  ran  from  the  house.  At 
the  same  moment  a  servant  brought  a  horse 
from  the  stable.  It  was  one  my  brother  had 
presented  me  as  a  birthday  gift.  The  noble 
animal  knew  my  voice,  and  answered  to  his 
name.  1  sprang  upon  his  back,  and  waving 
my  hand  to  the  faithful  servants,  was  out  of 
sight  in  a  moment. 

'  Here  I  was  cast  out   into  the  world,  my 


formed  that  he  had  departed  for  Europe,  two  |  so!e  possession  the  noble  steed  I  rode  and  a 
weeks  before,  for  his  health.     I  spent  a  week 
in  the  city  with  the  hopes  of  tracing  this  vil- 
lany  to  its  source,   which   I  was    confident 
would  lead  me  back  to  my  father's  wife.    But 


it  was  all  of  no  avail ;  and  the  stories  she  had 
circulated  met  me  at  every  turn,  till  in  an 
agony  of  shame,  grief,  and  disappointment,  I 
fled  from  the  city  ! 

'  Mr.  Melmoth  had  a  plantation  about  sixty 


a  tew  hundred  dollars.  I  had  been  educated 
to  no  profession,  and  knew  not  how  I  was  to 
live.  Almost  wild,  I  was  spurring  onward  to 
flee  from  myself,  when  I  met  you,  and  to  my 
joy  I  found  there  was  one  being  on  earth  who 
would  look  upon  me  with  kindness  ;  and  from 
your  noble  friendship  I  have  derived  all  the 
happiness,  that  in  the  state  of  my  mind,  I 
could-  enjoy.'  As  he  ended,  Stanley  pressed 


miles  from  the  city,  and  as  the  bank  in  which   lne  h;ind  of  his  friend  warmly,  while  the  ex- 


SENORA  INES.  29 

pression  of  his  eyes  was  eloquent  of  his  feel-j  and  I  hope  I  may  trust  in  your  friendship  to 
ings.  J  oblige  me.' 

Clifton  had  listened  to  this  recital  with  '  '  O,  Arthur  !  can  you  ask  such  a  question  ? 
great  interest.  He  truly  sympathized  with  [s  there  anything  in  my  power  that  I  would 
his  friend,  and  now  sat  a  few  moments  lost  in  not  do  for  you  T 

thought  ;  at  last  starting  up,  '  My  dear  Ed-  |  '  Well,'  answered  his  friend,  smilingly,  '  I 
ward,'  he  cried,  '  I  am  convinced  from  what  am  glad  to  have  no  more  trouble  in  gaining 
you  have  told  me,  that  a  deep  laid"  plan  of  vil-  my  wishes.  I  have  a  plantation,  ten  miles 
lany  has  occasioned  all  this  trouble  ;  and  as  \  distant,  the  agent  of  which,  I  have  some  rea- 
soon  as  I  am  able  to  return  to  the  city,  the  i  son  to  suspect,  has  not  acted  honorably ;  and 
case  shall  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  one  who  j  if  you  will  accept  this  agency,  which  he  has 
will  ferret  out  every  fact,  and  I  doubt  not,  re-  j  forfeited,  you  can  scarcely  imagine  how  much 
turn  good  account  of  it.'  0  uneasiness  it  will  remove  from  my  mind. 

'  I  have  already  consulted  a  lawyer  about  The  salary  will  be  a  thousand  dollars  a  year  ; 
it,'  replied   his  friend,  '  but  he  says  it  is  use-  not  very  large,  certainly,  but — ' 
less  to  attempt  it,  without  a  larger  amount  of  i      «  Q,  Arthur  !'  interrupted  Stanley, 
money  than  I—'  here  he  paused,  and  a  vivid  j      «  Wait  till  you  have  heard  all,  before  you 
color  overspread  his  face.  form  an  opinion.     Of  course,  you  will   have 

Arthur  interpreting  his  confusion,  cried  al-  no  trouble  about  that  till  we  return  from  Mex- 
most  reproachfully,  '  Have  not  you  preserved,  ico  ;  and  in  the  meantime  we  will  have  but 
saved  my  life  ?  and  could  you  not  expect  so  I  one*  purse  ;  nay,  do  not  shake  your  head, 
small  a  service  from  my  gratitude  1  Do  not  when  you  recover  your  fortune  you  shall  re- 
say  another  word  !  It  shall  be  as  I  say  !  I  pay  me.' 

will  take  the  entire  management  of  the  affair.  '  O,  my  brother  !  after  all  it  is  but  another 
And  now  let  us  to  sleep.'  ,  name  for  a  gift  of  charity.  But  I  will  act 

The  next  day,  after  dinner,  Clifton  told  his  worthy  of  so  noble  a  friend.  I  will  accept 
friend  he  would  like  to  see  him  alone  a  few  with  gratitude  what  I  can  never  hope  to  re- 
nioments.  When  they  were  seated,  he  said,  pay.1  He  turned  away  to  conceal  his  emo- 
'  I  wish  to  ask  a  favor  of  you,  a  great  favor, ,  tion,  while  Clifton  stole  gently  from  the 

!  room. 


CHAPTER  V. 


Mirth,  music,  friendship,  love's  propitious  smile, 

Chase  every  care,  and  calm  a  little  while, 

But  why  so  short  is  love's  delightful  hour? — CAMPBELL. 


Two  WEEKS  have  passed  away,  and  we 
will  return  to  Mr.  Hereford's  splendid  man 
sion.  A  gentleman  and  lady  were  sitting 
alone  in  the  parlor.  There  was  a  striking 
resemblance  between  them  ;  the  same  dark 
hair  and  eyes ;  the  same  high  forehead  and 
pale  complexion.  The  gentleman  sat  twin 
ing  the  flowing  ringlets  over  his  fingers,  and 
looking  in  the  lady's  face. 

'  Ines,  dear,'  he  said,  smiling,  '  you  have 
not  changed  much  since  your  last  visit  home. 
1  think  our  father  will  call  you  his  darling 
little  fairy  as  much  as  ever.' 

'  I  hope  so,  I  am  sure ;  and  I  hope  you  will 
both  love  me  very  much,  for  I  assure  you  it  is 
quite  a  sacrifice  to  leave  this  delightful  place, 
for  your  barbarous  country.' 

'  Take  care,  my  dear,  what  you  say, -or  our 
father  will  regret  ever  allowing  you  to  leave 
us.  You  know  he  wishes  you  to  take  back 
your  heart  safe,  and  allow  him  to  bestow  it 
where  he  likes.' 

Ines  turned  deadly  pale,  and  clasping  her 
brother's  hand,  she  cried  : 


'  O,  Alphonso,  will  he  force  his  only  daugh 
ter  to  marry  a  man  she  detests — one  with 
whom  she  must  ever  be  miserable?  Surely, 
if  he  loves  me  as  he  professes  to  do,  he  can 
not  doom  ms  to  such  wretchedness.' 

Her  brother  pressed  the  hand  he  held  in 
his,  and  looking  earnestly  in  her  face — 

'  Tell  me,'  he  said,  '  have  you  already  giv 
en  away  your  heart,  that  you  are  so  averse  to 
Zenovia?' 

'  My  heart  is  safe,  1  assure  you,'  she  cried, 
hastily,  though  her  blushes  and  faltering 
voice  contradicted  the  assertion,  but  ashamed 
of  her  momentary  confusion,  she  continued, 
in  a  more  composed  voice  : 

'  My  father  must  have  some  motive  for  this 
urgency  that  he  has  not  revealed  to  me  ;  for, 
I  have  often  heard  him  express  dislike  to  this 
man's  conduct.  Do  you  not  remember  when 
you  fell  into  the  lake,  that  our  father,  who 
was  not  able  himself  to  walk  a  step  alone, 
used  every  entreaty  to  prevail  upon  Zenovia 
to  plunge  in  to  your  rescue?  Yet  he  c">u'd 
not  summon  courage  to  risk  getting  wet, 


SENORA  INES. 


31 


to  save  the  Jife  of  a  friend,  and  merely  hast 
ened  to  the  house  to  alarm  the  servants,  while 
Henri  plunged  in,  and  when  sinking  the  third 
time,  drew  you  safe  to  land,  and  was  himself 
taken  out  insensible.  Do  you  not  see  in  that 
one  act  more  native  nobility  of  soul  than 
Zenovia  ever  possessed?' 

'  Henri  is  a  noble  boy,  it  is  very  true,  and 
I  have  often  thought  he  might  be  of  noble 
birth,  and  by  villany  have  been  translated  to 
his  present  position.' 

After  a  pause  of  a  moment,  Ines  cohtin- 
ued  : 

'  And  compare  that  man  with  the  gentle 
man,  who  at  such  imminent  risk  of  his  own 
life,  saved  me,  a  perfect  stranger,  from  such  a 
dreadful  death,  when  he  would  only  have 
thought  by  flight  to  save  himself  from  the 
peril  of  such  an  encounter.' 

'  It  is  then  as  I  feared,'  cried  Alphonso, 
gazing  sorrowfully  at  her  downcast  and 
changing  countenance,*  and  turning  away 
with  a  sigh,  he  retreated  to  a  window.  The 
next  instant  he  returned,  telling  Ines  that  a 
lady  and  two  gentlemen  had  just  alighted 
from  a  carriage,  and  were  approaching  the 
house. 

The  next  instant  the  door-bell  rang,  and  a 
well-remembered  voice  inquired  of  the  ser 
vant  if  the  family  were  at  home.  Ines  hesi 
tated  a  moment  whether  to  leave  the  room  or 
remain,  when  the  door  opened  and  Clifton 
entered,  followed  by  Stanley  and  Miss  Doug 
lass. 

Arthur  advanced,  and  taking  Ines's  hand, 
said  : 

'  I  have  been,  fortunate,  indeed,  to  arrive 
before  you  left.  1  very  much  feared  we 
should  be  too  late.  Allow  me  to  present  my 
dear  sister,  Helen.  She  is  already  prepared 
to  love  one  to  whom  I  am  under  so  much  ob 
ligation.' 

The  young  ladies  embraced  each  other  cor 
dially  ;  and  Ines  welcoming  Stanley,  turned 
to  introduce  her  brother  to  her  friends. 

The  rest  of  the  family  now  came  in,  and 
the  introductions  over,  the  evening  passed 


swiftly  away.  Each  one  «xerted  himself  to 
please,  and  there  was  not  one  present  but  at 
least  appeared  happy.  Alphonso  de  Montal- 
do  had  seen  many  beauties,  but  NEVER  ha'd 
charms  so  dazzling,  so  enchanting,  met  his 
view,  as  when  he  looked  upon  the  lovely 
Helen.  He  many  times  drew  a  blush  to  her 
cheek,  by  the  fixedness  of  his  gaze.  At  the 
tea-table  he  committed  twenty  blunders, 
which  created  a  general  laugh  at  his  expense, 
as  they  saw  by  the  direction  of  his  eyes  what 
had  occasioned  them.  He  smiled  gayly  in  an 
swer  to  their  jokes,  promised  to  do  better  for 
the  future,  and  then  became  as  forgetful  as 
before.  We  will  not  pretend  to  say  what 
were  the  dreams  of  our  friends  that  night, 
but  we  think  some  of  them  might  have  been 
more  pleasant  than  usual. 

Three  days  were  all  that  Ines  could  be  al 
lowed  to  remain  with  her  friends,  as  on  the 
fourth  a  steamer  was  to  leave  for  Vera  Cruz, 
which  they  were  to  take.  Clifton  and  his 
friends  spent  their  mornings  at  their  hotel, 
but  the  afternoons  were  passed  at  Mr.  Here 
ford's.  The  evening  of  the  third  day  Alice 
invited  her  friends  to  accompany  them  'to 
their  green-house,  and  give  her  their  opinion 
upon  some  new  plants  she  had  ju&t  procured, 
and  which  she  believed  were  very  rare.  Af 
ter  spending  half  an  hour,  admiring  the  beau 
ty  and  perfume  of  this  splendid  collection  of 
exotics,  Clifton  asked  Ines  in  a  low  voice  if 
she  would  walk  a  little  longer,  and  show  him 
the  little  arbor  that  she  had  said  was  her  fa 
vorite  retreat.  Then  drawing  her  arm  with 
in  his  own,'  he  conducted  her  to  one  of  the 
seats  placed  within  this  miniature  summer- 
house. 

Taking  a  seat  by  her,  he  mused  a  moment, 
then  exclaimed,  abruptly  : 

'  You  leave  us  to-morrow,  Donna,  to  go 
where  new  scenes  and  associations  await  you, 
and  will  you  sometimes  think  of  those  you 
leave  behind  ?' 

'  I  love  my  friends  too  well,  Mr.  Clifton, 
ever  to  forget  them,  though  hundreds  of  m  iles 
may  separate  us.' 


SENORA  INKS. 


<  May  I  not  have  the  privilege  of  hoping/ 
said  Clifton,  'that  I  shall  not  be  deemed  un 
worthy  of  a  place  in  your  remembrance?' 

<  Mr.  Clifton  must  have  a  strange  opinion 
of  me,'    cried  Ines,  '  if  he  supposes  I  could 
fqrget  one  who  has  so  much    claim  upon  my 

gratitude.' 

'Gratitude!'  ejaculated  Arthur;  'is  that, 
then,  dl  that  1  may  hope  for  ?  1  fear  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  content  myself  with  so  cold 

a  feeling.' 

'  Respect,  esteem,  then,'  said  the  lady,  in  a 
voice  that  trembled  slightly  with  agitation. 

Clifton  took  her  small,  white  hand,  and 
pressing  it  to  his  lips,  suddenly  dropped  upon 
one  knee,  and  softly  whispered  : 

'  Ines,  dear  Ines,  dare  I  tell  you  of  the  ar 
dent  love  that  has-been  growing  in  my  heart, 
since  I  first  saw  you  ?  Will  you  not  deem  me 
presumptuous  to  hope  that  my  sincere  affec 
tion  may  be  returned  ?' 

She  was  silent.  She  averted  her  face, 
while  tears  she  could  not  repress  started  from 
her  eyes. 

'  My  sweet  Ines,'  cried  Clifton,  gazing  in 
to  her  averted  eyes,  and  imprisoning  still 
closer  the  hand  she  attempted  to  release,  '  do 
you  think  me  unworthy  your  love  ?.  Have  I 
raised  my  hopes  too  high — to  one  who  re 
gards  me  with  indifference  ?' 

Ines  struggling  with  her  emotion,  at  last 
gained  voice  to  say  : 

'  O  no,  nothino-  of  that.     Do   not  think  I 

*  O 

could  be  so — ' 

She  paused,  then  continued,  nastily  : 

'  Mr.  Clifton,  it  is  impossible  that  I  can 
ever  be  yours.  Before  I  ever  saw  you,  my 
father  had  promised  my  hand  to  one  of  my 
own  country.' 

Clifton  sprang  to  his  feet  at  this  announce 
ment. 

'  Then  you  love  another  ?'  he  cried.  '  Be 
fore  we  ever  met,  you  had  given  your  heart 
into  the  possession  of  another.' 

Ines  started  up. 

1  Love  him  !'  she  exclaimed.     '  O,  Clifton, 


I  hate — I  abhor  him  !     You — you  only  can 
ever — ' 

She  sunk  into  a  seat,  and  covering  her  face    j 
with  her  hands,  burst  into  tears. 

Artrfur  took  a  seat  by  her  side,  and  dravv- 
ina  her  gently  towards  him,  he  whispered  : 

'  Dearest,  does  this  emotion  say  that  I  may 
hope  the  fervent  love  of  my  heart  is  return 
ed?  Can  it  be  that  such  happiness  is  mine?' 
And  his  eyes  beamed  with  the  blissful  con 
sciousness  that  the  answer  would  be  accord 
ing  to  his  wishes. 

Ines, hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder,  and 
sighed  in  a  voice  scarcely  articulate: 

'  Dearest  Arthur,  I  canjiever  love  any  but 
you.' 

Clifton  pressed  her  trembling  form  to  his 
breast,  and  raising  her  head,  their  lips  met  in 
one  long,  fervent  kiss. 

A  few  moments  of  bliss  unutterable  passed 
over  our  happy  lovers,  then  Ines,  releasing 
herself  from  his  arms,  looked  in  his  face  with 
tearful  eyes,  exclaiming  : 

'  What  will  my  father  say,  when  he  knows 
of  this?  He  will  call  me  disobedient,  un 
grateful.' 

'  My  dear  girl,'  replied  Arthur,  '  your  fath 
er  cannot  be  so  cruel  as  to  insist  upon  giving 
your  hand  where  you  cannot  bestow  your 
heart;  but,  should  he  do  so,  remember,  dear 
est,  that  a  parent  has  no  right  to  force  the  in 
clination  of  his  child  in  that  way,  and  from 
what  I  have  heard  of  Don  Carlos,  I  should 
think  he  would  have  no  inclination  to  do  so.' 
'  I  have  tried  to  think  so,'  answered  the 
trembling  girl ;  '  indeed,  l]e  is  the  kindest, 
most  affectionate  of  fathers,  but  he  has  made 
a  solemn  vow,  which  he  says,  to  save  his  own 
life,  or  even  mine,  he  dare  not  break,  and 
how  can  I  disappoint  him  ?' 

'  Then  you  will  obey  his  unreasonable  com 
mand,  without  an  attempt  to  change  his  reso 
lution,  and  without  casting  a  thought  upon 
the  misery  to  which  you  doom  him  who 
adores  you,  and  whom  you  have  professed  to 
regard  ?' 

Ines  raised  her  eyes  with  a  look  of  tender 


SENORA  INES. 


33 


reproach,  and  clasping  her  hands  tightly  over 
her  heart,  to  still  its  breath,  she  cried  : 

•  O,  Clifton,  this  is  cruel !' 

She  attempted  to  rise  and  leave  him,  but 
her  strength  was  not  equal  to  the  effort,  and 
she  fell  back,  pale* and  insensible.  Clifton 
bent  over  her  in  agony  ;  he  called  upon  her 
by  every  endearing  name  to  revive  and  bless 
him  with  the  sound  of  her  voice;  but  she! 
heard  him  not.  And  flying  to  a  fountain  that 
sent  up  its  sparkling  waters  a  few  feet  from 
them,  and  laving  a  handkerchief  in  the  pure 
element,  he  hastened  back,  and  by  its  aid,  in 
a  few  moments  restored  her  to  consciousness. 

'  Forcrive  me,  dearest,  loveliest  of  women  !' 
he  cried,  throwing  himself  at  her  feet  ;  '  for 
give  me  for  these*  hasty  expressions — they 
were  forced  from  me  by  the  anguish  of  the 
moment.' 

She  pressed  his  hand  and  whispered : 

'  I  have  nothing  to  forgive.  But,  O,  what 
ever  may  be  my  fate,  do  not  again  doubt  my 
love  for  that  can  never  change.' 

Arthur  kissed  the  pearly  drops  from  her 
cheek,  and  thanked  her  for  the  sweet  assur- 

'  i 

ance  of  her  love,  and  then  they  talked  with 
sadness  of  their  parting  on  the  morrow.  He 
prayed  her  to  tell  her  father  of  his  passionate 
love  for  her,  and  entreat  that  he  would  not, 
by  refusing  consent  to  their  union,  make 
them  both  unhappy,  and  doom  his  whole  fu 
ture  life  to  wretchedness,  for  he  must  indeed 
be  miserable,  if  forever  parted  from  her. 

Our  lovers,  heedless  of  the  time,  sat  near 
ly  an  hour,  engaged  in  sweet  converse,  and 
had  talked  themselves  into  the  belief  that 
they  must  be  happy,  when  the  city  clock  toll 
ing  the  hour  of  nine,  startled  them  from  their 
drtNim  of  bliss.  Ines  rose  instantly,  andgiv- 
in  r  Arthur  her  hand,  to  lead  her  to  the  house, 

O  * 

said,  smiling : 

4  Our  friends  will  think  \ve  are  lost,  and  be 
out  in  search  of  us.' 

As  they  approached  the  house,  they  saw 
Alphoaso  coming  to  meet  them. 

'Ah,  truants!'  he   cried,   as  he   reached  j 
them;  '  the  house  has  been  in  a  ferment  for 


an  hour,  and  I  could  not  pacify  the  ladies, 
until  I  set  out  in  search  of  the  lost  ones.' 

Clifton  replied,  laughingly  : 

'  We  are  able  to  take  care  of  ourselves.1 

Then  opening  the  door  for  Ines,  he  con 
tinued,  in  a  low  whisper,  as  he  pressed  her 
hand  : 

'  I  will,  if  possible,  gain  over  your  brother 
to  our  cause,  and  then  I  am  sure  all  will  be 
as  we  wish.' 

The  two  gentlemen  turned. back  into  the 
garden,  and  Ines  tripped  lightly  up  to  her 
room.  She  knew  ther,e  would  be  many  diffi 
culties  to  encounter,  before  she  could  hope  to 
be  united  to  the  lord  of  her  heart,  if,  indeed, 
that  could  ever  be.  But  she  was  happy  in 
spite  of  them,  for  she  felt  she  was  sincerely, 
ardently  loved,  and  she  was  assured  that 
neither  time  nor  absence  would  change  that 
affection.  It  was  sometime  before  she  thought 
of  going  below  ;  at  last,  bathing  her  eyes 
and  face  in  water,  to  rertiove  any  traces  of 
tears,  she  descended  to  the  parlor. 

Helen  asked  her  where  she  had  been,  and 
said,  laughing  : 

4  We  were  afraid  you  and  Arthur  had  taken 
it  into  your  heads  to  run  away,  and  so  sent 
your  brother  to  look  you  up,  and  were  just 
now  trying  to  prevail  upon  Mr.  Stanley  to  go 
in  senrch  of  him.  But  where  are  the  gentle 
men  ?  [  think  they  show  the  ladies  present 
great  politeness.' 

Ines  returned  some  trifling  reply,  and  at 
the  moment  the  gentlemen  entered.  '  She 
stole  a  glance  at  them,  and  meeting  a  look 
of  cheerful  hope  from  the  eye  of  Clifton, 
drew  her  ringlets  over  her  face  to  conceal 
her  blushes. 

Helen's  eyes  had  followed  those  of  her 
cousin,  and  shaking  her  finger  at  him,  while 
her  merry  eye  was  full  of  meaning,  she  cried: 

4  Ah,  take  care  !  I  shall  report  youto  your 
mother.' 

4  Ah,'  answered  Clifton,  '  I  hope  my  sweet 
sister  will  not  have  the  heart  to  carry  a  vtry 
bad  report  about  rne»' 


34 


SENORA  INKS. 


She  answered  him  only  by  a  mischievous 
glance,  and  turning  away,  commenced  speak 
ing  to  Ines  of  her  regret  at  parting  with  one 
to  whom  she  had  become  so  much  attached, 
during  their  short  acquaintance. 

It  was  late  before  our  friends  departed. — 
Stanley  and  Miss  Douglass  took  leave  of 
Ines  and  her  brother  that  evening,  as  they 
were  to  leave^  early  the  next  day;  but  Clif 
ton,  as  he  pressed  her  hand  at  parting,  told 
Ines  he  should  see  her  again. 

The  next  morning  a  noble  steamer  lay  at 
the  dock,  while  all  was  bustle  on  board,  pre 
paratory  to  their  departure.  Carriages  were 
constantly  arriving,  discharging  their  burden 
of  passengers,  and  rolling  away  to  give  room 
to  others.  Just  as  the  first  bell  rung  from 
the  boat,  a  splendid  carriage  drove  up,  and 
our  Mexican  friends,  with  Clifton,  alighted 
from  it,  waving  their  last  adieus  to  Mr.  Here 
ford,  who  remained  sitting  in  the  vehicle, 
they  proceeded  on  board  and  entered  a  pri 
vate  cabin,  where  Montaldo  left  them. 

Ines  had  taken  leave  of  her  friends  with 
the  deepest  sorrow,  but  now  she  was  to  un 
dergo  the  agony  of  parting — perhaps  forever 
— from  one  whom  she  loved  better  than  her 
own  life — one  whom  a  cruel  father  might 
never  again  allow  her  to  see. 

As  these  thoughts  passed  through  her 
mind,  she  threw  herself  into  her  lover's  arms 
and  sobbed  out : 

'  O,  if  you  was  only  going  with  us  !  to  be 
near,  to  advise  and  console  me  in  all  the  trou 
bles  I  shall  have  to  encounter  from  the  perse 
cution  of  that  hated  man.' 

Arthur  pressed  her  again  and  again  to  his 
heart,  while  he  trembled  so  that  he  could 
with  difficulty  support  her  slight  form. 

'  O,  dearest !'  he  cried,  his  voice  faltering 


with  emotion,  '  why  must  we  part?  Would 
to  Heaven  we  had  met  under  happier  auspi 
ces,'  pausing  a  moment.  '  But  I  do  wrong 
thus  to  depress  our  spirits  at  the  moment  of 
parting.  You  know,  my  love,  your  brother 
has  promised  to  use  his  influence  to  put  off 
all  idea  of  your  marriage  for  one  year  ;  sure 
ly,  your  father  will  not  refuse  so  slight  a  fa 
vor  as  this  ;  and  before  that  time — I  hope 
months  before — -I  shall  be  with  you  to  plead 
my  own  cause.  Be  firm  and  CONSTANT,  my 
own  betrothed  bride,  and  the  God  in  whom 
we  trust  will  watch  over  and  preserve  you 
from  danger,  and  enable  us  to  meet  again  in 
happiness.' 

At  this  moment  the  second  bell  rung,  and 
Alphonso  appeared  at  the  door,  saying  : 

'  They  are  going  to  start  immediately.1 

Another  warm  embrace,  a  fervent  kiss — 
'  God  bless  you  and  have  you  in  his  holy 
keeping,'  which  burst  from  both  their  lips  at 
once,  and  they  parted.  Clifton  shook  Mon- 
taldo's  hand,  and  sprung  to  the  shore.  The 
next  instant  the  steamer  left  the  land,  and ! 
went  bounding  gayly  on  her  way,  regardless 
of  the  heavy  hearts  she  might  be  wafting  afar 
from  hope  and  happiness. 

Our  hero  remained  some  minutes  gazing 
after  his  friends,  then  drawing  his  hat  over 
his  eyes,  he  walked  slowly  back  to  the  car 
riage. 

'  Forgive  me  for  detaining  you  so  long,' 
he  said,  as  he  took  his  seat  by  Mr.  Hereford, 
and  then  the  silence  was  unbroken,  save  b) 
sighs,  till  Mr.  Hereford  alighted  at  his  o\vr 
door,  and  invited  his  friend  to  go  in  with  him, 
Declining,  however,  he  walked  slowly  on  U 
his  hotel.  The  next  morning  our  friends  lef 
the  city  to  join  Mrs.  Clifton,  Stanley  goiti£ 
home  with  his  friend. 


CHAPTER  VI, 


Ofjoys  departed)  never  to  return; 
How  bitter  the  remembrance! — 

A  FEW  days  after  the  Incidents  just  related*  ipafienc^  in  me,  but  Were  it  not  for  the  sweet 


Mr.  Hereford  was  sitting  in  his  private  count 
ing-room,  making  a  few  closing  arrangements 
•  previous  to  leaving   the  city,  when  Monsieur 
iDupage  was  shown  in. 

'  Ah,  doctor^  I  am  happy  to  see  you;  I 
am  going  to  leave  town  immediately,  to  re 
move  my  family  to  a  more  secure  residence 
during  the  sickly  months.1 

1  True/    answered    the  doctor,  '  it  is  hot 


flower,  whd  looks  Up  to  me  fof  guidance  and 
happiness,  I  could  lay  my  head  in  the  Cold 
grave  without  a  sig"h.  My  angdl  wife  awaits 
me  ill  paradise;  and  my  sweet  babe  1  hope 
has  joined  her  there,  for  I  can  find  no  trace 
of  him  iri  this*  lower  world.' 

The  good  doctor  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
that  he  was  not  alone,  and  was  uttering  to 
other  ear's  what  he  had  hitherto  confined  to 


safe  for  them,  yet  I  regret  to  lose  your  soCie- !  his  own  breast. 


ty-.  I  have  so  few  intimate  friend?,  that  your 
absence  will  add  much  to  my  loneliness  ' 

'  Are  you,  then,  going  to  remain  during 
the  visit  of  our  southern  scourge  1  You  have 
escaped  several  years,  but,  though  a  physi 
cian,  you  may  not  always  be  so  favored.— 
Why  not  leave  no\V,  and  recruit  your  health, 
which  I  fear  is  failing  V 

'  O,  rto,  my  friend,  I  must  remain.  There 
may  be  many  who  will  need  my  dttentidn, 
who  have  not  the  means  to  reward  a  physU 
cian's  ^are*  I  trust  it  ia  not  unchristian  im1 


Itis  friend  tt-atched  him  with  surprise,  as 
he  brushed  tear  after  tear  from  his  eyes.  At 
last,  breaking  a  silence  which  was  becoming 
painful,  he  exclaimed  : 

1  My  dear  Bupage,  for  si*  years  we  have 
been  intimate  friends,  and  though  I  neter 
mentioned  it  to  you  before,  I  have  often  ob* 
served  you  sit  silent  and  melancholy,  in  the 
gayest  circles,  as  though  unable  to  derive 
pleasure  from  such  society;  and  how  you 
speak  of  having  lost  a  son,  and  yet  of  his 
fate  being  uncertain!  If  this  is  true,  ;  beg 


36 


SENORA  INES. 


you  will  confide  in  ray  friendship,  and  if  the 
most  unremitting  efforts  can  relieve  your 
mind,  be  assured  no  exertion  shall  be  want 
ing.' 

'Ah!'  cried  Monsieur  Dupage,  'I  have 
betrayed  myself;  but  of  what  use  is  farther 
concealment  ?  I  shall  never  find  my  son,  and 
cannot  fulfil  my  vow  to  his  sainted  mother. 
But  you  must  almost  think  me  deranged,  to 
talk  in  such  a  manner.  I  will  give  you  a 
brief  description  of  my  past  life,  before  you 
leave  town,  at  any  time  when  you  are  at 
leisure.' 

'  I  am  perfectly  so  at  present,  and  am  so 
deeply  interested  in  the  subject,  that  you  will 
oblige  me  by  giving  it  now.' 

Then  ringing  a  bell  which  stood  on  his 
desk,  he  told  a  man  who  entered  to  take  c,are 
they  were  not  interrupted.  As  he  disappear 
ed,  Mr.  Hereford  turned  to  his  friend,  and 
signified  his  readiness  to  listen.  After  a  few 
moments,  Monsieur  Dupage  commenced  : 

'My  father,  the  Marquis  de  la  Croisy,  was 
of  noble  family,  and  felt  strongly  that  pride 
of  birth  which  could  not  stoop  to  an  alliance 
with  an  inferior.  Early  in  life  I  became  at 
tached  to  a  beautiful  girl,  who  possessed  ev 
ery  quality  that  my  father  could  desire,  but 
one.  She  was  of  good,  but  not  noble  birth, 
and  he  commanded  me  to  forget  her,  and  wed 
one  of  rny  own  rank.  This  I  could  not  do ; 
and  on  leaving  college,  the  lovely  Marie  be 
came  rny  wife. 

'My  father,  on  hearing  it,  disclaimed  me 
entirely  ;  but  ashamed  to  see  a  son  of  his 
wanting  the  necessaries  of  life,  he  directed 
my  mother  to  bestow  upon  me  annually  a 
sum  sufficient  to  support  us  in  comfort.  Dur 
ing  my  last  term  at  college,  a  gentleman  call 
ing  himself  Senor  de  Marlino,  from  Mexico, 
saw  and  fell  violently  in  love  with  Marie ; 
and  when  he  avowed  his  love,  and  met  with 
a  repul^i,  his  disappointment  and  rage  knew 
no  bounds.  He  remained  till  all  hope  was 
destroyed,  by  our  marriage,  and  then  depart 
ed,  telling  Marie  she  would  neve.r  prosper  or 
be  happy,  for  refusing  'him  for  a  portionless 


boy.  His  prediction  sometimes  cast  a  shade 
over  our  happy  home,  but  it  soon  passed 
away,  and  we  thought  %no  more  of  it. 

'  Four  years  passed  swiftly  away.  My 
sweet  Marie,  and  our  little  Henri,  then  about 
two  years  old,  composed^piy  little  world  of 
happiness.  I  was  surrounded  by  none  of  the 
luxuries  of  my  boyhood's  home.  We  kept 
only  two  servants,  but  they  were  sufficient  to 
do  the  business  of  our  little  household.  I 
spent  my  time  mostly  at  home,  and  now  often 
look  back  upon  those  few  years  as  the  hap 
piest  period  of  my  life.  I  often  ask  myself- 

'"  What  is  this  world  to  us? 
Its  pomps,  its  pleasures,  and  its  nonsense  all 
Who  in  each  other  clasp,  whatever  fair 
High  fancy  forms,  or  lavish  hearts  c^f]  wish." 

'  About  this  time  I  received  a  letter  from 
India.  I  had  a  bachelor  uncle  there,  who 
was  very  eccentric.  When  he  heard  of  my 
marriage  and  consequent  banishment  from 
home,  he  said  I  should  nejf«y  lose  by  it ,  and 
to  reward  my  constancy  to  her  I  loved,  he 
would  make  me  his  heir,  and  thus  disappoint 
my  father  in  his  scheme  of  punishment.  I 
never  thought  of  it  again,  supposing  it  one 
of  his  strange  fancies,  till  that  letter  came 
from  his  man  of  business.  He  said  my  un 
cle  was  dead,  and  after  leaving  legacies  to 
his  old  servants,  and  a  large  sum  for  charita 
ble  purposes,  he  had  left  me,  his  favorite 
lephew,  one  hundred  thousand  pounds,  on 
condition  that  I  went  in  person  to  receive  it. 

'  1  communicated  this  intelligence  to  Ma 
rie,  and  saw  by  the  deadly  paleness  of  her 
countenance  how  much  she  dreaded  the  sep 
aration.  It  was  several  weeks  before  she 

uld  gain  sufficient  fortitude  to  bear  our 
carting;  and  I  was  at  times  tempted  to  give 
up  the  fortune,  and  not  leave  her  at  all.  But 
this  1  felt  I  had  no  right  to  do,  and  prepared 
o  go;  but  it  was  with  a  foreboding  heart 
that  I  kissed  my  dear  ones,  and  turned  again 
and  again  to  gaze  fondly  upon  them,  as  I 
rode  slowly  from  the  house.  I  had  engaged 


SENORA  INES. 


37 


a  young  lady,  a  friend  of  my  wife,  to  remain  <  fort,  and  extending  her  arms,  with  a  shriek  of 
with  her  during  my  absence.  joy  fell  fainting  on  my    bosorn.     Her  young 

'  The  ship  that  I  sailed  in  was  wrecked,  '  friend  and  nurse  brought  restoratives,  while 
and  only  myself  and  seven  others  escaped  to  I  bore  her  to  a. bed,  and  she  soon  recovered, 
land,  losing  everything  but  what  we  had  on  j  It  was  a  long  time  before  either  of  us  could 
our  persons.  I  had  fortunately  secured  my  speak.  At  last,  throwing  her  arms  around 
papers  and  money  about  me.  As  soon  as  it  my  neck,  she  sobbed  : 


was  possible,  I  wrote  to  my  dear  Marie,  as  I 


I 


ouglit  to  be  thankful   that  this  great 


feared  she  would  hear  of  the  shipwreck,  and  j  blessing  is  still  left  me;  but,  O  Eugene,  our 


Henri — our  darling — is  lost  to  us." 

'  Dead  ?'  was  the  only  word  I  could  utter. 
'  "  Ah,  no!"  she  sobbed  ;  "  would  that  he 
stolen — carried   off — we 


of  course  think  I  was  lost  also.     After  a  very 
long  and   tedious   journey,  I  reached  India; 
and  presenting  my    credentials  to  the  solicit 
or,  after  going  through   all  the  formalities  of;  was!       But    he    is 
law,  I  was  at  last  put  in  possession  of  my  un-  j  know  not  where." 

cle's  fortune  and  title,  that  of  Le  Compte  de  j  '  My  tongue  seemed  palsied  ;  I  could  not 
Morinval.  j  speak  ;  and  I  fixed  my  eyes  in  trembling  hor- 

'  I  immediately  set  out  on  my  return,  but  ror  upon  her  face.  But  she  could  not  ex- 
rough  weather  rendered  our  passage  long ;  plain — she  fell  back  completely  exhausted 
and  it  was  more  than  a  year  after  I  left  my  ;  upon  the  pillow,  and  motioned  her  friend  to 
native  land  before  I  again  stepped  upon  its  j  tell  me  all. 

shores.  I  had  written  repeatedly,  but  had  '"  Ah,  my  dear  sir,"  she  commenced, 'it  is 
not  received  a  line  from  home.  As  I  came  a  sad  event.  The  dear  child  seemed  failing 
within  sight  of  Jfce  home  which  contained  in  health,  and  his  nurse  took  him  to  the  sea- 
the  dear  ones,  from  whom  I  had  so  long  been  j  shore  for  a  few  weeks,  in  the  hope  that  a 
absent,  F  looked  eagerly  for  the  appearance  '  change  of  air  might  have  a  good  effect.  It 
of  rny  Marie  to  welcome  my  return,  but  in  was  not  three  weeks  before  Janet,  the  nurse, 
vain.  alighted  from  a  carriage,  and  running  into 

'  When  I  knocked,  my  old  servant  appear- '  the  house,   fell  on  her  knees  before  Madam 
ed  at  the  door,  and   raising  his   hands  and    de  la  Croisy,  crying  : 
eyes,  exclaimed  :  '  O,  dear  lady,  it  was  not  my  fault.     I  loved 

'  "  Ah,  Monsieur  de  la  Croisy  !"  J  him  as  though  he  had  been   my  own  child 

'  But  instead  of  expressing  joy  at  my  re- '  Our    blessed  lady  is  our    witness ;  I  would 


turn,  he  turned  away  and  burst  into  tears, 
sprung  forward  and  caught  him,  crying: 


I  ;  sooner  have  died  than  lost  him.' 

M 

'  "  Your  sweet  Marie  had  listened  to  this 
raving  in  amazement,  not  being  able  to  con- 


'  What  does  this  mean?     Quick — tell  me 
what  is  the  matter. 

'  But  I  could  not  wait  for  an  answer, 
rying  onward,  I  passed  through  several  rooms,  '  what  she  meant :  when  she  fell  into  an  agony 
and  opened  my  wife's  dressing-room,  without  of  sobs  and  lamentations,  from  which  we 
meeting  a  person.  There  she  sat,  in  a  large  j  learned  that  two  days  before  she  had  been 


jesture  her  meaning. 
Hur- !      '  "  I  was  present,  and  begged  her  to  explain 


easy  chair,  supported  by  pillows,  pale  as  mar 
ble — her  form  thin  and  emaciated.     She  was 


obliged  to  leave  their  lodgings,  upon. an  er 
rand   which   detained  her  for  several  hours, 


robed  in  a  dressing  gown,  scarcely  whiter  j  and  left  the  little  Henri  in  his  cot  asleep — 
than  her  face.  My  heart  contracted  with  '  Pierre,  her  husband,  having  promised  to  sit 
agony,  as  I  gazed  on  her.  Her  eyes  were  I  by  him  and  watch  his  slumbers  till  she  re- 
closed  when  I  opened  the  door;  but  now  !  turned.  When  she  came  back,  the  child  was 
turning  her  head,  she  rose  with  a  sudden  ef-  not  to  be  found,  but  her  husband  sat  there  as 


SENORA  INKS, 


she  left  him,  onJy  he  was  fast  asleep,   and  in 
a  state  of  brutal  intoxication. 

'  "  She  tried  in  vain  to  rouse  him  from  his 
stupor  ;  and  leaving  him,  she  flew  through  ev 
ery  room  in  the  house,  and  then  into  the 
streets,  wringing  her  hands  and  calling  for 
her  child.  Some  charitable  people  turned 
out  to  assist  in  looking  for  him;  handbills 
were  circulated  and  rewards  offered — but  all 
was  of  no  avail ;  and  in  a  state  almost  of 
distraction,  fche  threw  herself  into  a  carriage 
and  oame  here  to  tell  the  sad  news. 

'  "  My  dear  friend  had  listened,  with  hands 
clasped  and  tearless  eyes,  to  this  relation  of 
her  bereavement;  but  when  it  was  closed, 
she  fell  to  the  floor,  bereft  of  sense  and  mo 
tion.  For  many  hours  she  fell  from  ojie 
fainting  fit  into  another,  and  when  at  last 
these  ceased,  reason  did  not  return.  For 
four  weeks  she  raved  constantly  of  her  hus 
band  and  child,  and  it  is  only  within  three 
weeks  that  she  has  been  slowly  recovering." 

'  This  is  indeed  horrible  !'  I  cried  ;  '  but 
have  you  no  suspicions,  to  guide  us  to  the 
perpetrators  of  this  outrage?' 

' "  Ah,  yes — not  only  suspicion,  but  cer 
tainty.  Two  weeks  after  you  left  home,  Se- 
nor  Martino  came  again  to  the  place.  He 
called  here,  and  congratulated  Marie  on  her 
happiness,  said  he  had  long  since  dismissed 
all  unpleasant  feelings  towards  her — praised 
the  beauty  of  her  child — and  begged  earnest 
ly  that  he  might  be  considered  as  a  dear 
friend,  who  would  do  all  in  his  power  to  serve 
her  and  hers.  She  thanked  him,  but  said, 
coldly,  that  her  husband  had  left  her  in  such 
a  situation  that  assistance  from  him,  or  any 
one  else,  was  unnecessary. 

1  "  A  short  time  after  he  called  again,  ap 
parently  in  the  deepest  sorrow,  saying  he  had 

just  received  a  letter   from  a  friend  in , 

giving  an  account  of  the  wreck  of  the  ship 
you  sailed  in  ;  and  saying  that  all  on  board  per 
ished.  He  came,  as  he  said,  to  break  the 
news  more  gently  to  her  than  another  would 
have  done.  Even  while  he  was  there,  a  pa 
per  was  brought  in,  which  corroborated  his 


account,  in  everj  particular.  Then  my  dear 
friend  sunk  to  the  earth  insensible ;  and  as 
soon  as  restored  to  a  sense  of  her  misery,  she 
went  into  strong  convulsions,  which  contin 
ued  through  the  night ;  an^  for  many  weeks 
her  life  was  despaired  of. 

'  "  During  her  illness,  Martino  called  often 
to  inquire  about  her,  and  acted,  indeed,  like 
a  friend.  Receiving  no  letters  from  you,  we 
were  convinced  that  you  were  indeed  lost  ; 
and  your  wife  mourned  for  you,  as  dead. 

'  "  Martino  often  called  for  some  months, 
treating  her  M'ith  the  most  marked  respect, 
and  as  tenderly  as  though  she  had  been  a  sis 
ter  ;  but  I  observed  he  would  turn  the  con 
versation,  when  she  spoke  of  you,  and  often 
praised  the  beauty  and  splendor  of  New  Or 
leans,  in  America,  and  whispered  a  wish  that 
he  might  be  allowed  to  transport  her  there. 
At  this  remark,  she  turned  upon  him  a  look 
of  haughtiness,  which  changed  his  manner 
instantly  to  that  of  a  friend. 

'  "  Shortly  after  he  call«L  and  requested 
of  Marie  a  private  interviewTbut  was  refused. 

1  "  I  beg,  dear  lady,"  he  cried,  "  that  you 
will  grant  my  wish,  and  if  you  desire  it7  I 
will  never  again  intrude  into  your  presence." 

'  "  Marie  looked  provoked  ;  but  after  a 
pause  answered  :  '  Well,  as  you  please.' 

'  "  She  led  him  into  the  ante-room  beyond 
this,  and  requested  me  to  come  here,  where 
I  could  hear  eve/y  word  that  was  uttered, — 
She  then  returned  to  the  room,  leaving  the 
door  slightly  ajar. 

'  "  Dear  Marie  !"  he  cried,  as  soon  as  s-he 
entered,  "  I  have  long  sighed  for  this  oppor 
tunity  of  declaring  my  fervent  love  for  you  ; 
though  I  have  been  silent  till  now,  my  pas 
sion  has  burnt  none  the  less  intense.  While 
you  remain  here,  old  scenes  and  associations 
will  keep  you  constantly  melancholy,  and  in 
delicate  health.  Accept  the  hand  and  heart 
of  one  who  adores  you  ;  let  me  t;ike  you  to 
new  scenes  and  society, even  to  the  new  world; 
and  you  will  soon  recover  health  and  the 
natural  buoyancy  of  your  spirits.  And  your 
sweet  child,  too,  will  have  advantages  which 


SENORA  INES. 


it  is  impossible  for  him  to  have  here,  in  your 
circumstances.  May  I  not  hope  that  you  will 
listen  to  my  prayers?'' 

'  "  He  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it  to  his 
Hps.  Releasing  her  hand  from  his  grasp,  she 
answered  : 

'  "  Senor  Martino,  I  feel  obliged  for  your 
preference  and  offers,  but  I  cannot  accept 
them.  My  heart  is  in  the  grave  of  my  hus 
band,  and  I  cannot  cast  aside  the  memory  of 
him  I  first  loved,  and  accept  another  in  his 
place.  I  cannot  bring  another  father  over 
my  child ;  and  not  for  worlds  would  I  leave 
a  spot,  rendered  sacred  by  the  loved  presence 
in  time  past  of  him  who  only  can  ever  occu 
py  a  place  in  this  heart.  Therefore,  do  not, 
I  beg,  ever  mention  the  subject  to  me  again." 

'  "  She  seemed  to  think  the  interview  over, 
and  was  moving  to  the  door.  Martino  threw 
himself  at  her  feet,  and  besought  her  in  the 
most  impassioned  language  to  have  pity  upon 
him — to  think  of  his  sufferings,  and  change 
her  determination ;  but  she  checked  him, 
saying,  coldly  : 

'  "  I  fear  you  would  compel  me  to  regret, 
that  I  ever  bestowed  upon  you  my  friendship." 

4  "  He  sprung  to  his  feet  at  these  words. 

'  "  Indeed,  proud  madam!"  he  cried,  bitter 
ly  ;  "  you  do  well  to  speak  thus  harshly  to 
me.  It  will  nerve  me  on  to  my  duty.  And 
now  mark  well  my  words.  You  will  never 
enjoy  another  day  of  happiness,  while  you 
have  life.  Sorrow  and  trouble  will  come  up 
on  you,  from  which  there  will  be  no  escape. 
I  once  loved  you,  madam,  but  you  scorned  me, 
and  I  vowed  revenge.  I  have  never  lost 
sight  of  you.  I  have  had  spies  constantly  on 
ydur  movements.  I  was  informed  of  your 
husband's  intended  absence,  and  repaired 
hither  to  complete  my  vengeance. 

*  "  I  made  you  believe  he  was  dead.  There, 
madam,"  and  he  threw  down  several  letters, 
"  I  intercepted  those.  Your  husband  is  still 
alive — he  will  return  ;  but  that  will  not  bring 
you  happiness.  Farewell,  madam  ;  you  will 
remember  what  I  have  said  ;"  and  he  dashed 
out  of  the  house  like  a  madman. 


'  "I  ran  in,  and  found  Marie  standing  in 
the  centre  of  the  room,  her  hands  clasped, 
and  her  eyes  strained  in  wild  horror  upon  the 
retreating  figure  of  that  dreadful  man. 

'  "  She  could  not  speak,  but  pointed  to  the 
letters.  I  snatched  them  up,  and  breaking 
open  one  of  the  latest  date,  read  to  her  that 
you  were  indeed  alive,  and  would  soon  start 
for  home.  At  this  joyful  tidings  she  fell  on 
her  knees,  murmuring : 

'  "  He  says  I  shall  never  be  happy,  but  my 
dear,  dear  Eugene  is  alive,  and  coming  home. 
O,  I  am  already  blessed  beyond  my  hopes." 

'  "  I  stole  gently  out  of  the  room,  so  as  not 
to  disturb  her  prayers ;  and  my  heart,  also 
bounded  for  joy  at  the  intelligence. 

'  "  On  the  third  day  after,  the  news  was 
brought  us  of  Henri's  loss,  and  at  the  same 
time  this  letter  was  taken  from  the  office." 

'  She  rose,  and  opening  an  escritoire, 
handed  me  a  letter,  which  I  opened,  and  read 
the  following  lines: 

'  "  Madam — supposing  you  will  be  anxious 
tor  the  fate  of  your  child,  I  write  this  to  let 
you  know  that  your  son  is  in  good  hands.     I 
shall  myself  superintend  and  take  the  charge 
of  his  education;   and  for  the  respect  I  bear 
|  his  parents,  that  education  shall  be  worthy  of 
;  them.     His  'life  shall  be  spent   in  the  most 
;  degrading,  servitude,  where  his  mind  will  be 
forced  to  grovel  on  a  level  with  his  low  com 
panions.     He   will  be  taught  to  believe  him- 
,  self  the  child  of  a  licensed  beggar,  who  sold 
|  him  to  a  stranger  for  a  trifle,  to  relieve  him 
;  of  the  burden  of  supporting  him.     The  son 
;  of  the  Count  de  Morinval,  and  heir  apparent 
;  to  the  noble    Marquisate  de  la  Croisy,  will 
assuredly  be  proud  of  his  parentage.      To 
,  assist  you  in  the  search  you  wjll  probably  in 
stitute,  I  would  say,  that  Martino  is  not  my 
name,  nor  Mexico  my  country." 

'  It  was  with   great   difficulty    that  I  could 

1  control    my    emotions    sufficiently    to  read 

through  this  insulting,    this   horribly  aggra- 

j  vating  epistle.     I  rose  to  rny  feet — my  eyes 

i  flashing  indignation — 

'  As  sure  as  there  is  a  God  in  heaven,  or 


40 


SENORA  INES. 


might  in  this  arm,'  I  exclaimed,  '  that  villain 
shall  feel  my  vengeance!'  and  I  started  to 
rush  from  the  house.  My  wife's-  sobs  recall 
ed  me.  I  knelt  by  her  side — pressed  her 
hand  convulsively  to  my  heart. 

'  O,  Marie  !'  I  cried,  '  how  cruelly  you 
have  suffered,  while  I  was  not  here  to  con 
sole  and  support  you,  under  so  much  afflic 
tion  ;  but,  alas  !  what  consolation  is  there. 
The  cunning  of  that  wretch  will  elude  all 
our  vigilance,  and  only  despair  remains. 

'  I  will  not,  my  dear  friend,  attempt  to  de 
scribe  our  sufferings.  I  had  returned  home 
with  wealth,  to  surround  us  with  every  lux 
ury  the  heart  could  desire;  but  we  were 
childless,  and  what  did  we  now  care  for 
wealth.  In  the  course  of  a  year,  Marie  pre 
sented  to  my  arms  a  daughter.  She  was 
named  for  her  mother,  and  since  her  death 
has  been  the  world  to  me.  For  the  first  four 
months  my  dear  wife  exerted  herself  for  her 
child,  and  I  hoped  she  would  recover  her 
health;  but,  alas!  vain  hope.  She  faded 
away,  and  in  little  more  than  a  year,  sunk  to 
her  last  rest,  as  gently  as  an  infant  to  its  slum 
bers.  , 

'  Had  I  known  that  my  child  was  dead,  his 
loss  would  almost  have  been  ^forgotten,  in 
anguish  for  the  death  of  my  idolized  Marie. 
But  to  know  that  he  was  alive — fulfilling  the 
wretched  destiny  marked  out  for  him  by  that 
man  of  horror — added  thorns  to  my  misery. 

1  My  father  died  a  few  months  before  this, 
and  having  forgiven  my  disobedience,  left  me 
a  third  part  of  his  fortune.  I  had  given  my 
wife  a  promise  that  I  would  never  cease  my 
efforts  to  discover  our  child,  while  life  contin 
ued  ;  and  placing  my  infant  in  my  mother's 
charge,  I  commenced  immediately  the  study 
of  medicine,  supposing  I  could  better  gain 
access  to  all  ranks  of  society  in  that  profes 
sion,  than  any  other. 

'  But  do  not  think  I  had  been  idle  all  thi 
time.  Every  effort  had  been  made  to  dig 
cover  the  villain,  who  had  robbed  me  of  m] 
boy.  1  had  sent  emissaries  to  the  Unitec 
States,  to  Mexico,  and  through  a  great  par 


if  Europe.  I  had  visited,  and  by  persua- 
ion,  bribes,  and  threats,  had  endeavored  to 
Iraw  some  information  from  Pierre,  but  he 
counterfeited  innocence  so  perfectly,  that  I 
could  say  no  more. 

Ten  years  passed  away,  in  which  I  had 
rained  a  perfect  knowledge  of  my  profession, 
and  had  travelled  much,  always  with  one  end 

view.  At  this  time,  1  heard  that  Pierre 
had  been  fatally  wounded  in  an  affray,  and 
was  taken  to  the  police  office.  I  went  to  him 
mmediately,  and  with  the  certainty  of  death 
Before  him,  he  confessed  that  Martino  had 
iven  him  a  heavy  sum  of  money  to  give  the 
child  into  his  hands,  and  promised  that  he 
hould  not  be  injured,  but  that  he  would  him 
self  bring  up  the  child  in  his  own  country. 
He  said  that  after  Martino  took  the  babe,  he 
iad  gone  to  the  tavern  to  procure  liquor,  and 
drank  to  intoxication,  so  that  he  could  not  an 
swer  any  questions.  That  the  money  he  had 
received  led  him  on  from  one  wickedness  to 
another,  till  now  he  had  lost  it  all,  and  must 
end  his  life  in  a  prison.  He  said  his  wife 
knew  nothing  of  it — that  she  idolized  the 
child,  and  had  always  been  melancholy  since 
she  lost  it. 

'  I  could  not  look  upon  the  wretch  without 
horror;  but  in  consideration  of  his  repent 
ance  and  confession,  I  gave  directions  to 
have  him  provided  with  every  comfort,  which 
was  done,  and  in  a  short  time  he  died. 

'  My  mother  and  brother  were  now  both 
dead,  and  the  title  and  possessions  fell  to  me. 
But  the  splendors  of  rank  and  wealth  could 
not  detain  me  from  the  cherished  object  of 
my  life  ;  and  taking  my  young  Marie,  then  a 
lovely  girl  of  eleven,  and  the  faithful  Janet,  I 
came  here.  Dropping  my  real  name,  and 
assuming  that  of  Dupage,  I  hoped  to  elude 
the  notice  of  Martino,  if  .he  was  here. 

'  But,  ah,  my  friend,  my  life  has  been  spent 
in  unavailing  efforts,  and  I  fear  I  shall  never 
be  blessed  with  the  sight  of  my  child.  I 
never  see  a  poor  laborer  passing  along  with 
slow  and  melancholy  step  but  I  eagerly  ex 
amine  his  countenance,  hoping  to  see  the  lin- 


SENORA  INES. 


'  41 


eaments  so  dear  to  me.  My  dear  Marie  is 
all  I  have  to  console  ray  sad  hours.  Can  you 
wonder  then,  my  friend,  that  I  am  unhappy 
— that  the  recollection  of  past  happiness  in 
spires"  such  a  regard  for  its  loss  ? 

'  "  Still  unfortunate  and  vain 
To  former  joys  recurring  ever, 
And  turning  all  the  past  to  pain/' ' 

'My  dearest  friend,'  cried  Mr.  Hereford, 
who,  by  the  humidity  of  his  eyes,  betrayed 
his  sympathy,  '  my  efforts  shall  be  united 
with  yours,  and  I  trust  ere  long  your  lament 
ed  son  will  yet  be  restored  to  your  love  ;  and 
if  your  amiable  daughter  will  consent  to  ac 


company  us,  in  our  retirement  for  a  few 
months,  we  shall  indeed  be  happy.  It  will 
leave  you  still  more  lonely,  my  friend,  but 
you  might  lose  her,  should  she  remain  here.' 
Monsieur  Dupage,  for  by  that  name  we 
shall  still  call  him,  pressed  the  hand  of  his 
friend,  while  the  tears  coursed  slowly  over 
his  face.  After  a  short  time  he  gained  com 
posure  to  thank  Mr.  Hereford,  and  accept  his 
offer  about  his  daughter  ;  and  then  walked 
home  to  prepare  her  for  the  journey.  In  a 
few  days  they  left  the  city  for  a  country 
seat,  and  the  doctor  felt  more  than  ever  his 
[loneliness. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


On  stormy  floods  and  carnage-covered  fields, 

The  march-worn  soldier  mingles  for  the  toil. — CAMPBELL. 


BY  our  reader's  leave,  we  .will  now  trans 
port  him,  in  fancy  at  least,  to  the  Mexican 
city  of  Vera  Cruz.  The  brave  troops,  under 
the  command  of  the  noble  Scott,  and  his  gal 
lant  generals,  had  been  many  days  actively 
employed  in  digging  trenches,  and  planting 
'batteries,  till  on  the  evening  of  the  22d  of 
March,  having  entirely  surrounded  the  town, 
the  order  was  given  to  commence  bombard 
ing  the  city — which  was  continued  with  lit 
tle  intermission  for  three  days  and  nights.  It 
was  a  sublime  spectacle,  particularly  in  the 
night,  to  watch  the  shells  in  their  aerial  flight 
till  they  struck  within  the  city  ;  to  listen  to 
the  crash,  as  they  pierced  the  roof,  or  wall 
of  some  building,  carrying  death  and  de 
struction  before  them.  Then  to  witness  the 
explosion  lighting  up  the  black  expanse  with 
a  brilliant  glare  for  a  moment — then  vanish 
ing,  and  leaving  tenfold  darkness  in  its  place. 

But  the  inhabitants  of  the  city  were  not  the 
only  recipients  of  these  dangerous  visitants. 
They  returned  the  compliment  in  like  man 
ner,  but  happily  with  not  very  fatal  effect. 


The  Mexicans  at  last  found  they  mus  t  ±u 
render,  or  see  their  beautiful  town  complete 
ly  destroyed ;  and  finally,  after  some  con 
sultation,  and  treaty,  the  Americans  took 
possession  of  the  town  and  castle  !  And  then 
the  '  FLAG  OF  OUR  UNION  '  floated  proudly 
from  the  battlements — its  broad  folds  waving 
gracefully  out  upon  the  morning  breeze — 
and  its  appearance  greeted,  by  the  pealing 
thunder  of  hundreds  of  cannon  :  and  the  en 
livening  strains  of  numerous  bands  of  music. 
A  day  or  two  after  this,  our  friends  retired 
together  to  their  quarters,  and  throwing  them 
selves  into  seats : 

'  Well,  my  friend,'  cried  Stanley,  '  we  are 
actually  in  the  city  of  Vera  Cruz  ;  have  con 
quered  and  taken  possession  of  it  by  the  most 
signal  prowess  ;  and  are  destined,  I  presume, 
to  perform  something  still  more  brilliant,  as 
we  are  to  leave  in  a  few  days  for  Jalapa,  en 
route  for  the  city  of  Mexico.  But  you  appear 
sad  to  night,  what  has  occurred  to  depress 
your  spirits?' 

'  You  mistake,  Edward,  I  am  not  low  spir- 


SENORA  INES. 


43 


ited!  I  was  only  musing  upon  various  sub 
jects.  Do  you  not  remember,  it  is  just  five 
months  to  day,  since  we  left  home,  and  part 
ed  from  those  we  may  never  meet  again  ?  I 
often  think  of  my  dear  mother's  pale  face, 
and  quivering  lip,  as  she  entreated  me  to  take 
care  of  myself,  and  remember  that  she  and 
Helen  would  be  alone  in  the  world  if  I  should 
fall.  And  then,  the  fervent  blessing  she  call 
ed  down  from  Heaven,  upon  her  departing 
son,  rests  upon  my  mind  ;  and  even  in  the 
midst  of  carnage  and  death,  it  seems  as  though 
the  influence  of  that  prayer  turned  aside  the 
weapon  of  destruction  from  my  breast  !  And 
I  was  thinking  of  another  thing  he  added 
with  a  smile.  '  We  are  going  immediately 
to  Jalapa — and  you  know — '  he  paused. 

'  Ah  yes,  I  know,'  repeated  his  friend, 
laughing,  '  I  know  the  young  Senora  resides 
there,  who  brought  away  your  heart  tt>  Mexi 
co — and  so,  perforce  you  must  follow  to  look 
it  up.' 

'  Well,  I  hope  I  shall  find  it,  safe  and 
sound  (or  rather  the  one  who  has  charge  of 
it),  and  I  shall  not  regret  my  long  journey  to 
obtain  it.' 

'  I  have  another  wish,'  said  Edward,  '  and 
that  is,  that  your  Senor  Zenovia  may  either 
break  his  neck,  or  fall  into  our  hands  a  pri 
soner,  in  either  case  he  would  not  be  able  to 
trouble  you  at  present.' 

'  I  thank  you  for  your  generous  wish,  my 
friend,'  said  Clifton,  smiling.  '  To  tell  the 
truth,  I  am  quite  impatient  to  get  to  Jalapa, 
where  I  hope  to  see  Ines — unless  her  father 
spirits  her  away  from  fear  of  our  army.  I 
have  so'metimes  thought  he  might  make  my 
serving  against  his  countrymen  an  objection 
to  giving  me  his  daughter,  or  he  may  not  have 


to  her   entreaties,  and   those   of  her 
-but  have   forced  her  long  ere   this 


listened 

brother- 

to  the  arms  of  another.     But   this  is  folly,'  he 

cried,  coloring   deeply,    '  I  do  not  deserve 

good  fortune,  if  I  always  prophesy  evil.' 

Oar  friends  sat  a  few  moments  silent  and 
abstracted,  then  Clifton  raising  his  eyes,  sud 
denly  exclaimed  :  '  My  dear  Edward,  I  think 


you  have  not  played  a  very  wise  part,  in  one 
case  at  least.' 

Stanley  looked  at  him  in  surprise  ! 

4 1  mean,'  he  continued,  with  a  smile,  '  that 
it  was  very  strange  you  did  not  declare  your 
sentiments  to  Miss  Hereford,  on  your  last 
visit,  just  before  we  left  home.' 

'  Declare  my  sentiments  to  her,'  cried  his 
friend.  '  What  1  throw  myself  at  her  feet, 
peniless  as  I  am,  and  avow  my  love,  only  to 
be  rejected  with  scorn  and  contempt,  for 
daring  to  raise  my  eyes  to  one  so  far  above 
me  in  fortune  ?  No !  I  hope  I  have  not  lost 
all  pride  yet,  that  I  could  do  so  weak  a  thing. 
If  I  could  have  known  she  returned  my  ar 
dent  affection  it  would  have  been  different.' 

'  I  thought  you  loved  her,'  said  Clifton, 
quietly. 

'  Love  her  ?'  cried  his  friend,  '  I  worship, 
I  adore  her.  When  in  her  presence,  1  live 
only  in  her  smiles — and  now,  in  her  absence, 
her  image  is  my  constant  companion.1 

'  I  wish  you  would  answer  me  two  or  three 
questions,'  said  Clifton,  '  a"nd  I  think  1  can 
prove  what  I  have  said.  Could  you  think  of 
uniting  your  fate  with  a  girl  who  married 
you  entirely  for  your  fortune  V 

'  Of  course  not,  if  I  ever  hoped  to  be 
happy.' 

'  Then  you  do  not  consider  yourself  any 
less  worthy  of  future  happiness,  for  having 
unhappily  lost  a  large  fortune  ?  and  least  of 
all'  could  you  esteem  a  young  lady  -who  by 
looks  and  actions  would  evince  her  affection 
for  you,  before  you  even  mentioned  the  sub- 


been    more   par- 
than  to  others   of 


ject  ;  and  had  not  even 
ticularly  attentive  to  her 
her  sex  ?' 

Stanley  remained  silent  a  moment — then 
looking  up  with  an  embarrassed  air,  he  cried 
'  I  see  what  you  are  about,  my  friend  ;  you 
wish  to  condemn  me  from  my  own  lips.  I 
understand  all  you  wish  to  convey,  and  be- 
Here  you  are  not  far  from  right.  But  tell 
me,  Arthur,  do  you  think  it  possible  that 
Alice  Hereford  has  honored  me  with  any 


44 


SENORA  INES. 


more  regard  than  she  would  bestow  upon  any 
friend  ?' 

Clifton  met  his  friend's  ejes  riveted  upon 
his  face,  with  a  look  of  such  eager  hope,  that 
he  could  scarcely  restrain  an  audible  laugh  ; 
but  with  an  effort  he  answered  calmly,  '  I 
think  if  you  had  avowed  your  regard  for  her, 
it  is  not  only  possible,  but  very  probable  that 
you  might  now  feel  quite  different  from  what 
you  do  at  present.' 

He  did  not  tell  his  friend  that  in  a  con 
versation  with  Miss  Hereford,  just  before 
they  left  home,  he  had  mentioned  some  in 
cidents  in  Edward's  life,  and  slightly  touch 
ed  upon  an  affection  which  he  felt,  but  dared 
not  avow  in  his  circumstances.  His  look 
informed  her  of  the  object  of  that  attachment, 
and  he  was  convinced  by  her  manner,  that  at 
least  want  of  .fortune  did  not  lower  Edward 
in  her  estimation.  But  being  merely  the  re 
sult  of  his  own  observations,  he  would  not 
mention  it. 

Our  friends  continued  their  conversation 
but  a  short  time,  and  then  retired  to  rest. 
Upon  first  leaving  home,  they  had  joined  the 
invincible  Taylor,  and  remained  with  him 
till  Gen.  Scott  was  appointed  commander  in 
chief;  when  most  of  the  old  hero's  troops 
were  drawn  off  to  support  him,  our  friends 
among  the  number.  Captain  Clifton  and  his 
lieutenant  had  by  their  gallantry  and  gentle- 
fhanly  appearance,  gained  very  many  warm 
friends  in  the  army,  of  both  officers  and  men. 
As  they  were  always  together,  they  were 
styled  the  friends. 

The  army  remained  but  a  few  days  in  Vera 
Cruz,  and  then  resumed  their  march  to  the 
capital.  On  the  17th  and  18th  of  April,  oc 
curred  the  battle  of  Cerro  Gordo.  All  the 
operations  of  the  battle  covered  several  miles. 
A  number  of  detachments  of  daring  troops, 
under  their  gallant  leaders,  ascended  the 
long  and  difficult  slope  of  Cerro  Gordo,  which 
was  the  highest  and  steepest  of  all  the  ene 
my's  works,  exposed  to  destructive  fire,  pour 
ing  down  upon  them  from  the  heights — and 
resolved  on  victory,  drove  the  enemy  from 


their  works — planting  the  American  flag 
where  a  few  moments  before  floated  the  stand 
ard  of  the  enemy. 

Captain  Clifton  with  his  command  was  or 
dered  round  the  hill,  to  attack  a  party  of 
Mexicans,  who  held  aposition  where,  as  they 
were  concealed  from  view,  they  picked  off 
many  in  the  opposing  ranks.  When  they 
found  themselves  discovered,  and  saw  the 
force  approaching  to  dislodge  them,  the  first 
movement  was  to  retreat ;  but  their  leader,  a 
young  officer  of  prepossessing  appearance,  by 
voice  and  gesture,  incited  them  to  stand  by 
him.  For  a  few  moments  they  bore  the 
shock  of  the  assault  firmly;  but  seeing  their 
companions  falling  on  every  side,  the  remain 
der  turned  and  fled  with  precipitation. 
Their  leader  called,  remonstrated,  and  urged 
them  to  return — but  in  vain!  '  Cowards,'  he 
cried, 'curling  his  fine  lip  with  scorn.  'Let 
them  go — I  will  stand  alone  !' 

At  this  moment,  several  blows  were  aimed 
at  his  head,  one  of  which  brought  him  to  his 
knees.  Then  half  a  dozen  swords  were  point 
ed  at  his  breast.  Unable  to  rise,  he  was  at 
tempting  to  parry  their  deadly  thrusts,  when 
Clifton  springing  from  his  horse  with  the 
speed  of  thought,  dashed  them  aside,  crying  : 
'  Do  not  strike  a  fallen  foe  ;'  and  stooping, 
he  assisted  the  officer  to  rise. 

'  Sir,'  exclaimed  the  young  man,  '  your 
noble  conduct  has  conquered,  I  surrender  to 
you  ;'  and  he  presented  his  sword.  But  at 
the  moment  the  eyes  of  the  two  officers  met, 
and  with  an  explanation  of  surprise  each  seiz 
ed  the  other's  hand. 

It  was  Alphonsode  Montaldo,  whom  Clif 
ton  had  saved  ;  and  seeing  that  he  was 
wounded  and  bleeding,  he  ordered  him  to  be 
taken  to  a  place  of  safety,  and  his  wounds 
dressed,  while  himself  returned  to  his  station. 
By  this  time  the  hill  was  won,  and  a  white 
flag  appearing  in  the  enemy's  camp,  after  a 
short  parley,  Gen.  la  Vega,  with  his  officers 
and  men,  laid  down  their  arms.  Santa  Anna 
with  his  suite  were  now  in  full  retreat  for  Ja- 


SENORA  INES. 


45 


!apa,   pursued    by   the   greater   part   of  the 
American  army. 

It  was  several  hours  before  Clifton  could 
be  released  from  duty,  to  seek  his  friend 
(for  Stanley  was  also  wounded,  and  in  the 
hospital).  When  they  did  meet,  Montaldo 
held  out  his  hand.  'I  believe  I  must  call 
you  friend,'  he  said,  smiling,  '  even  though 
I  see  you  in  the  ranks  of  the  enemy  ;  «and  I 
wish  to  thank  you  for  my  life  ;  as  I  should 
have  thrown  it  away,  had  it  not  been  for  your 
interference.' 


n  expressed  his  pleasure  that  he  had 
been  able  to  save  the  life  of  one  he  regarded 
so  highly.  Mutual  inquiries  now  followed, 
about  their  respective  friends.  Alphonso 
toW  Clifton,  '  that  his  father  and  sister  were 
now  at  Jalapa,  undecided  whether  to  await 
the  approach  of  the  American  army  there,  or 
fly  to  the  capitol.'  He  said,  Colonel  Zeno- 
via  was  in  the  army  of  Santa  Anna,  at  the 
head  of  1009  guerillas,  and  had  probably 
retreated  with  his  general.  He  also  said,  that 
his  father  had  consented  to  postpone  the 
marriage  of  Ines  for  one  year  from  the  time 
she  reached  home;  on  condition  that  at  the 
expiration  of  that  period  she  should  give  her 
hand  to  Zenovia.  He  confessed  that  the  co 
lonel  was  not  a  favorite  with  any  of  them  — 
and  he  should  be  glad  to  have  the  match  bro 
ken  off,  if  such  a  thing  was  possible,  without 
compromising  his  father.  Ines  had  told  him 
repeatedly,  that  she  did  not  —  could  not  —  love 
him  ;  but  he  had  not  sufficient  manhood  to 
give  her  up,  though  he  certainly  could  have 
little  hope  of  happiness,  with  a  woman  who 
could  not,  even  now,  conceal  her  dislike  to 
wards  him. 

'  Do  you  think  my  friend,'  said  Clifton, 
'  that  your  father  is  so  determined  upon  this 
affair,  that  he  would  oppose  our  attachment, 
was  he  riot  bound  to  Zenovia  by  a  strong 
promise  ?' 

'  O,  no,  far  from  it  !  '  From  what  he  has 
heard  of  you,  I  am  convinced  he  is  prepos 
sessed  in  your  favor  ;  and  I  have  even  seen 


him  shed  tears,  when  listening  to  the  account 
of  your  noble  preservation  of  my  sister.  But 
it  is  that  fearful  vow  !  Why  he  made  it  I  do 
not  know,  as  he  has  never  disclosed  his  mo 
tive  ;  but  as  he  has  done  so,  he  dare  not  break 
it.  But  do  not  despair  !  You  are  sure  of 
my  sistcjr's  affection,  and  something  I  am 
confident  will  yet  happen  to  prevent  so  great 
a  sacrifice.' 

Clifton  smiled.  '  I  am  inclined  to  be  of 
your  opinion,'  he  cried,  '  at  least,  it  has  al 
ways  been  my  custom  to  look  upon  the 
bright  side  of  events,  rather  than  anticipate 
evil.  But  tell  me,  Montaldo,  what  are  to  be 
your  future  movements?  You  will  be  parol 
ed,  and  allowed  to  go  any  where  you  like, 
except  into  the  army  again.' 

1  Indeed  I  have  thought  little  about  it,'  re 
plied  Alphonso,  '  not  beirig  aware  of  your 
general's  intentions,  with  regard  to  his  pri 
soners.  My  honor  would  of  course  prevent 
my  again  serving  against  you — but  to  stay  in 
my  own  country,  and  sit  idly  by,  witnessing 
the  struggles  of  my  countrymen,  without  one 
effort  to  assist  them — I  can  never  do!  I 
think  I  will  proceed  to  the  United  States. 
My  mother  was  an  American — and  I  have  re 
lations  in  New  Orleans,  who  would  probably 
welcome  me,  particularly  as  it  would  remove 
one  from  the  forces  of  their  enemy. 

'  I  am  glad,'  said  Clifton,  '  that  you  think 
of  doing  so — but  you  will  certainly  visit  home 
first?' 

1  Yes  !  as  soon  as,  I  am  able  to  ride,  which 
I  presume  will  be  in  a  few  days.  1  shall 
meet  you  there  of  course,'  he  said,  with  a 
merry  glance  into  his  face. 

Arthur  made  no  reply,  but  sat  a  few  mo 
ments  silent — then  starting  up  and  looking 
at  his  watch,  he  said  :  '  I  regret  to  leave  you 
— but  I  must  stay  no  longer — we  march  in 
an  hour — and  I  have  much  to  attend  to  be 
fore  that  time.  I  hope  you  are  comfortable 
here,  and  receive  what  attention  is  necessary 
for  your  wounds.  1  have  endeavored  to  pro 
vide  for  that.' 


SENORA  1NES. 


'  O  yes,  I  have  everything  necessary;  do 
not  be  at  all  uneasy  about  me.  I  shall  rely 
upon  your  friendship,  to  see  my  father  and 
sister,  and  jquiet  their  anxiety  for  me,  as  I 
fear  they  have  heard  it  mentioned  that  I  have 
fallen.' 

'  I  will  certainly  do  as  you  wish,'  replied 
Clifton  ;  '  and  now  good-by  for  a  few  days 
only;'  and  with  these  words  he  left  him. 

Montaldo  was  surprised  to  see  him  in  half 
an  hour  return.  He  approached  the  couch, 
and  pressing  the  hand  of  his  friend  warmly, 
he  cried,  with  a  look  of  pleasure,  '  I  have 
just  obtained  permission  of  my  commanding 
officer,  to  take  you  along  with  us.  My  friend 


Stanley  is  wounded,  not  severely — but  so  tha 
he  will  be  unable  to  sit   his  horse,    and  you 
will  share   his  litter   to  the  city.     Will  not 
this  arrangement  be  more  pleasant  than  to  re 
main  here  ?' 

'  My  dear  Clifton,  you  are  ever  thought 
ful,  ever  kind.  It  will  indeed  be  happiness 
to  return  so  soon  to  the  care  of  my  friends  ; 
and  to  know  that  I  owe  such  pleasure  to  you, 
will  add  still  more  to  my  gratitude.' 

The  captain  now  left  him  to  complete  his 
preparations — and  in  a  few  hours  the  last 
brigade  was  on  its  way  to  Jalapa.  Leaving 
our  friends  to  prosecute  their  march,  we 
will  precede  them  a  few  days  into  the  city. 


CHAPTER  V1IL 


That  best  of  fathers  !  how  shall  1  discharge 

The  gratitude  and  duty  which  I  owe  to  him  ?— CATO. 


THE  city  of  Jalapa  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  places  in  Mexico.  It  is-situated  in 
a  picturesque  valley,  entirely  surrounded  by 
mountains.  To  the  east,  as  far  as  the  eye 
can  reach,  ranges  of  mountains  rise  one 
above  another,  till  their  summits,  covered 
with  perpetual  snow,  seem  concealing  their 
heads  in  the  clouds  of  heaven.  The  rarest 
kinds  of  fruit  are  found  here  in  abundance, 
and  the  salubrity  of  the  climate  renders  it  a 
delightful  residence. 

It  was  towards  evening,  a  day  or  two  pre 
vious  to  the  incidents  mentioned  at  the  close 
of  the  last  chapter,  that  a  young  lady  was 
sitting  alone  in  her  dressing-room,  in  one  of 
the  most  magnificent  houses  in  the  city.  She 
sat  before  a  small  writing  desk,  with  several 
open  letters  before  her,  which  she  seemed  to 
have  been  perusing.  Her  raven  tresses  fell 
in  long  ringlets  upon  her  neck,  and  around 
her  pale  face.  Her  right  hand  supported 
her  head,  while  her  left  lay  upon  the  desk 
before  her.  Upon  her  delicate  front  finger 


sparkled  a  diamond  ring,  upon  which  her 
dark  eyes  were  fixed,  with  a  mournful  ex 
pression. 

Raising  it  ta  her  lips,  she  exclaimed,  '  O, 
this  is  the  only  memento  I  have  of  his  love, 
the  memory  of  which  has  been  my  only  com 
fort  for  many  long  months.  And  yet — not 
my  only  comfort — my  father  loves  me.  He 
is  ever  kind,  ever  indulgent.  He  anticipates 
my  every  wish,  and  is  only  happy  when  I  am 
cheerful.  I  will  be  cheerful !  It  is  due  to 
his  tenderness  that  I  should  exert  myself  to 
please  him.' 

She  turned  to  the  desk,  and  taking  up  one 
of  the  letters,  read  still  again  a  page  she  had 
read  probably  fifty  times  before,  in  which  her 
uncle  Hereford  (we  take  it  for  granted  our 
readers  have  recognized  Ines  de  Montaldo) 
had  spoken  of  Clifton,  as  one  '  he  would  be 
proud  to  call  nephew,  and  who  possessed  as 
noble  a  heart  as  ever  beat  in  man's  bosom.' 
He  said  he  thought  him  worthy  of  her,  and 
that  was  as  high  encomium  as  he  could  pas  s 
upon  him. 


48 


SENORA  INES. 


Her  heart  beat  with  exultation,  at  these 
praises  of  one  whom  she  thought  the  most 
perfect  of  men.  There  was  another  item  in 
her  uncle's  letter  upon  which  her  mind  dwelt 
with  interest.  This  was,  that  Clifton  and 
Stanley  had  just  left  the  week  before,  to  join 
the  army  in  Mexico. 

She  grew  sad  as  she  thought  of  all  the 
dangers  by  which  Arthur  would  be  surround 
ed,  ajad  her  heart  sunk  with  apprehension,  as 
she  read  the  Mexican  accounts  of  their  ene 
my's  loss,  while  she  thought  it  hardly  possi 
ble  that  he  could  escape,  when  so  many 
brave  beings  were  falling  upon  every  side  of 
him.  She  had  heard  that  the  American 
army  was  within  a  few  days'  march  of  Jalapa, 
and  she  knew  that  the  Mexicans  were  deter 
mined  to  oppose  their  farther  progress  at 
Cerro  Gordo.  She  had  a  dear  brother  also, 
in  the  army,  and  as  she  imagined  those  two 
loved  beings,  perhaps  even  now,  opposing 
each  other  in  deadly  contest,  she  bowed  her 
head  upon  her  hands,  and  wept  in  agony. 

A  short  time  after  this  some  one  tapped 
gently  at  the  door,  and  a  gentleman  of  pecu 
liarly  benevolent  appearance  entered  the 
room.  He  was  perhaps  fifty  years  of  age. 
His  complexion,  and  the  contour  of  his  fea- 
tures,  proclaimed  him  a  Mexican  by  birth. 
His  form  was  still  fine,  and  he  had  once 
,  been  very  handsome,  but  time  and  grief  had 
written  legible  traces  in  his  countenance. 

Advancing  to  Ines.  he  threw  his  arm 
around  her  neck,  and  kissing  her  fondly,  he 
said  : 

'  Ah,  my  child,  I  see  you  are  poring  over 
those  letters  again.  I  believe  I  shall  take 
them  into  my  own  possession,  for  they  occu 
py  too  much  of  your  time,  when  I  am  so 
covetous  of  your  society.  1  really  think  I 
shall  have  to  write  to  my  brother,  and  let 
him  know  how  fond  you  are  of  him.' 

Ines  blushed  crimson,  and  placing  the 
letters  in  her  desk,  moved  her  seat  to  her 
father's  side,  and  pressing  his  hand  in  both 
hers,  she  looked  up  in  his  face  with  a  smile 
of  affection,  as  she  said  : 


'  O,  I  am  truly  blest,  for  I  have  the  deares; 
and  best  of  fathers.' 

Don  Carlos  bent  over  his  daughter,  and 
gazed  into  her  eyes,  upturned  to  his,  and 
beaming  with  love  and  tenderness,  till,  over 
come  with  emotion,  his  head  sunk  upon  her 
shoulder,  and  he  murmured  : 

'  What  a  treasure  I  possess  in  this  sweet 
child,  the  dear  representative  of  my  sainted 
Alice.' 

A  few  moments  passed  away,  then  wiping 
his  dewy  eyes,  he  rose. 

'  Come,  my  love,'  he  said,  '  the  carriage  is 
ready,  and  we  will  ride  for  an  hour  on  the 
Plaza.' 

Ines  immediately  rang  for  her  bonnet  and 
shawl,  and,  taking  her  father's  arm,  descend 
ed  to  the  carriage. 

It  was  a  lovely  evening,  and  the  Plaza  was 
crowded  with  carriages,  passing  and  re-pass 
ing  each  other  in  gay  confusion.  Occasion 
ally,  as  they  met,  the  fair  occupants  would 
exchange  a  few  words  of  greeting,  and  talk 
gaily  upon  some  lively  subject,  but  generally 
the  existing  war  was  the  theme,  which,  be 
fore  this,  they  only  dreaded  at  a  distance  ; 
but  now,  it  was  approaching  their  very  gates, 
and  might  bring  death  and  suffering  into 
their  own  households. 

A  carriage  containing  a  gentleman  and 
two  ladies  now  rolled  up,  and  stopping  oppo 
site  Montaldo's,  the  gentleman  inquired  if  he 
had  heard  any  certain  account  of  the  expect 
ed  battle,  knowing  that  he  had  a  son  in  the 
army.  Don  Carlos  answered  in  the  negative. 

While  the  gentlemen  were  conversing,  the 
young  ladies  were  boasting  of  the  valor  of 
their  countrymen. 

'  We  shall  surely  gain  a  victory  over  these 
"  barbarians  of  the  north," '  cried  one  of 
them.  '  Our  troops  have  selected  a  very  ad 
vantageous  position,  and  they  are  resolved  to 
keep  it.  Besides,  their  numbers  are  suffi 
cient  to  crush  their  enemies  at  once.  I  have 
riot  the  least  fear  of  defeat.  But  why  do  you 
look  so  sad,  senora  ?  It  is  enough  to  bear 


SENORA  INES. 


49 


ill  fortune  when  it  comes,  without  anticipa 
ting  it.' 

'  You  have  no  relative  or  dear  friend  en 
gaged  in  this  dreadful  war,'  replied  Ines,  '  or 
the  knowledge  of  their  danger  would  perhap 
depress  your  spirits  as  much  as  it  does  mine.' 

'  Ah,'  cried  one  of  the  girls,  '  I  had  forgot 
ten  that  you  had  a  lover  as  well  as  a  brother 
there.  If  the  colonel  knows  how  much  alarm 
you  experience  for  his  safety,  he  will  feel 
himself  securely  guarded,  and  dare  anything 
to  prove  himself  worthy  of  so  much  tender 
ness."  A  slightly  malicious  glance  from  her 
eye  closed  this  speech. 

'  O,'  cried  Ines,  '  the  colonel  knows  full 
well  the  extent  of  my  interest  in  him,  and  I 
do  not  in  the  least  doubt  but  he  will  take 
good  care  of  himself.' 

Her  red  lip  curled  with  an  expression  of 
lofty  contempt,  as  she  spoke,  and  turning 
away,  the  carriages  parted,  and  as  they  rolled 
off,  one  of  the  girls  said  to  her  sister  : 

'That  Ines  is  an  enigma  to  me.  She 
never  denies  her  engagement  with  Zenovia, 
and  speaks  of  it  as  a  thing  of  course,  and  yet 
hovr  often  I  have  noticed  her  eye  flash,  and 
her  lip  curl  with  scorn,  when  he  was  men 
tioned.' 

'  Ines,'  said  her  father,  as  their  carriage 
turned,  and  moved  slowly  towards  home,  '  I 
perceive,  if  the  Americans  gain  the  daj,  and 
their  army  enter  this  place,  that  you  will  be 
more  than  ever  averse  to  this  marriage  with 
Zenovia.  Mr.  Clifton,  if  alive,  will  come 
here,  and  plead  his  affection  against  my 
wishes,  and  the  result  will  be  a  clandestine 
union,  leaving  your  father  to  bear  the  penalty 
of  such  conduct.' 

'  My  dear  sir,  have  I  not  given  you  a  sol 
emn  promise,  never  to  bestow  my  hand  upon 
him  without  your  consent,  and  do  you  dis 
trust  the  truth  of  your  child  ?' 

'  No,  dearest,  not  your  truth,  but  your 
firmness  against  the  pleadings  of  one  whom 
you  love  to  enthusiasm.  But  to  say  nothing 
of  that,  if  Zenovia  should  meet  him  here,  and 
learn  that  he  is  the  cause  of  your  coldness  to 


himself,  a  deadly  meeting  would  be  the  con 
sequence,  of  which  I  know  you  would  regret 
to  be  the  cause.' 

Ines  shuddered  !     He  continued  : 

'  Then  why  not  at  once  consent  to  remove 
to  Mexico,  where  we  shall  be  spared  all  this? 
I  have  mentioned  it  before,  but  now,  I  see 
more  than  ever  the  necessity  of  the  measure, 
both  for  your  peace  and  my  own.' 

Ines  threw  herself  upon  his  bosom,  and 
with  trembling  eagerness  cried  : 

'  O  do  not  take  me  away  from  here.  If, 
as  you  say,  the  Americans  defeat  our  coun 
trymen,  our  dear  Alphonso  may  be  wounded, 
and  brought  in  here  :  and  surely  we  would 
not  wish  to  be  so  far  distant,  and  leave  him 
to  the  care  of  strangers.  And  ah,  my  father, 
for  months  I  have  been  looking  forward  to 
this  time,  and  now  that  a  few  days  only  pre 
vent  our  meeting,  I  cannot  endure  the  idea 
of  leaving  the  place  without  seeing  Arthur. 
You  will  not  go,  dear  father  ?' 

Don  Carlos  cried,  in  an  impatient  tone  : 
'  Foolish  girl !  you  have  no  reflection,  no 
care  for  the  consequences.  The  present  mo 
ment  is  all  you  heed.  I  did  not  think  you  so 
selfish  !' 

Ines  was  now  sobbing  as  if  her  heart 
would  break. 

After  a  moment's  silence  her  father  press 
ed  her  to  his  breast,  and  kissing  away  the 
tears  said,  '  Forgive  me,  dearest !  I  was  has 
ty.  Dry  your  tears ;  I  cannot  bear  to  see 
you  weep.  We  will  remain  here,  and  Jet 
events  take  their  course.  As  you  say,  we 
shall  be  nearer  our  Alphonso  should  he  need 
our  attention.' 

As  they  reached  home,  Don  Carlos  sup 
ported  her  up  the  steps,  and  again  kiss 
ing  her,  said,  '  Go  to  your  room,  my  love, 
and  compose  your  spirits,  and  be  ready  to 
welcome  me  with  a  smile  when  we  meet 
again.' 

Ines  hurried  to  her  chamber,  and  throwing 
off  her  hat,  cast  herself  in  a  seat,  to  muse 
upon  her  father's  last  words — that  he  would 
let  things  take  their  course. 


SENORA  INES. 


1  Can  it  be,'  she  asked  herself,  '  that  he 
means  at  last  to  consent  to  our  happiness? 
Perhaps  he  feels  that  to  keep  such  an  oath 
when  it  would  create  so  much  misery,  is 
more  criminal  than  to  break  it,  and  thus 
conduce  to  the  felicity  of  beings  so  dear  to 
him.' 

She  knew  not  that  she  had  any  basis  for 
her  hopes,  but  hope  she  did,  and  when  in  an 
hour  the  door  gently  opened,  she  turned  to 
meet  her  father,  with  sparkling  eyes,  and 
cheeks  glowing  with  pleasure. 

But  it  was  not  her  father.  A  pleasant 
looking  woman  entered,  and  advancing  to 
Inez,  cried,  as  she  looked  in  her  face,  '  I  see 
something  has  happened  to  give  my  sweet 
child  pleasure.  May  I  not  share  her  Delight  ?' 

Ines  smiled.  '  I  do  not  know,  indeed,  my 
good  Martha,  that  I  have  any  more  reason  to 
be  happy  now,  than  yesterday  at  this  time, 
but  I  believe  my  spirits  are  a  little  lighter. 
Perhaps  we  shall  see  dear  Alphonso  again  in 
a  few  days.  You  know  they  have  halted  on 
ly  a  short  distance  from  us,  and  whether  they 
conquer  or  otherwise,  he  may  soon  return.' 

«  Yes,  I  know,'  said  Martha,  with  a  quiet 
smile, '  and  it  is  possible  another  person  may 
be  here  as  soon,  either  as  a  prisoner,  or  in 
the  ranks  of  the  conqueror.' 

'  O,'  cried  Ines,  '  would  that  this  cruel 
war  was  over,  and  peace  might  once  more 
smile  upon  our  unhappy  land.  But  do  you 
not  think  there  will  be  bloodshed  here,  on 
their  entrance  V 

'  O  no,'  replied  Martha  ;  '  they  say  the  au 
thorities  are  determined  if  necessary  to  give 
up  the  city,  without  an  effort  at  defence, 
which  they  think  perfectly  useless  if  our 
army  are  defeated  in  the  coming  engage 
ments.' 

'  1  hope  so,'  said  Ines ;  '  and  now,  dear 
Martha,  we  will  go  down  and  meet  my 
father.' 

Martha,  as  Ines  called  her,  was  a  distari 
cousin  of  Madam  de  Montaldo.  At  thi 
time  of  her  marriage  Martha  was  a  widow 
her  husband  having  died  a  few  months  pre 


ious,  leaving  her  destitute,  and  she  gladly 
ccepted  an  offer  to  accompany  her  cousin  to 
YIexico.  She  had  been  in  the  family  of 
VIontaldo  ever  since,  acting  as  nurse  to  the 
children  and  friend  to  the  parents.  She  was 
veil  educated,  and  a  pleasing  companion. 

On  the  death  of  Madam  de  Montaldo,  she 
lad  charged  Martha  to  watch  over  her  orphan 
children,  and  teach  them  to  worship  God  as 
heir  mother  had  done.  Don  Carlos  never 
denied  his  wife  any  gratification,  and  the 
;hildren  were  educated  in  the  Protestant 
aith.  They  did  not  look  to  Martha  as  to  a 
)arent,  but  treated  her  with  affectionate  fa 
miliarity.  Although  Ines  had  been  absent 
several  years,  on  her  return  old  habits  came 
jack  with  all  their  former  force,  and  she 
oved  her  as  well  as  ever. 

The  next  day,  the  news  spread  through 
Jalapa  like  wildfire,  that  a  hard  battle  had 
3een  fought,  in  which  the  Mexicans  had  been 
defeated,  and  they  had  retired  to  wait  the 
morning  for  the  renewal  of  hostilities.  There 
were  few  eyes  closed  that  night  in  the  town, 
and  towards  morning  the  scattered  troops 
under  Santa  Anna,  came  flying  into  the  city. 
There  was  no  time  for  rest,  as  they  were 
hotly  pursued  by  the  enemy,  and  after  half 
an  hour's  pause  they  again  moved  on. 

It  was  very  early  in  the  morning,  when 
loud  and  repeated  knocks  at  Senor  de  Mon- 
taldo's  door,  alarmed  the  inmates.  As  the 
master  of  the  house  saw  a  man  enter,  his 
clothes  disordered  and  dusty,  his  face  pale 
and  haggard,  with  every  mark  of  fear  and 
fatigue  about  his  person,  he  cried  in  sur 
prise  : 

'  Why,  Colonel  Zenovia,  you  look  as 
though  you  might  have  seen  an  army  of 
ghosts,  from  the  pallor  of  your  countenance.' 

'  More  probably  an  army  of  devils!'  cried 
Zenovia,  throwing  himself  into  a  seat.  '  Cer- 
ro  Gordo  is  taken,  General  La  Vega  and 
many  thousand  men  are  taken  prisoners,  and 
Santa  Anna,  with  the  remainder,  are  in  full 
retreat  for  Mexico.' 


SENORA  INES. 


51 


After  sitting  a  few  moments  he  started  up. 
'  My  dear  sir,'  he  said,  '  this  is  no  place  for 
yourself  and  Ines.  Will  jou  not  enter  your 
carriage,  and  fly  with  us  to  Mexico.?  You 
shall  be  guarded  safe  to  the  city.  Those 
barbarians  will  enter  the  town  in  a  few  hours, 
perhips  in  one,  and  then  I  know  not  what 
may  be  your  fate.  Say,  my  dear  sir,  that 
you  will  go  with  us.' 

'  Impossible,'  replied  Don  Carlos.  '  Sub 
ject  my  tender  child  to  the  fatigues  of  ac 
companying  a  retreating  army,  warmly  pur 
sued  by  a  victorious*  one  ?  I  should  prefer 
remaining  here,  and  trusting  to  the  honor  of 
our  foes.  But  why  not  stay  here,  and  guard 
us  from  danger,  if  you  fear  so  much  for  us  ?' 

'  Stay  here  !'  repeated  Zenovia,  and  his 
face  grew  paler  at  the  idea ;  '  indeed,  that  is 
out  of  the  question.  Stay  here  to  meet  those 
— to  expose  myself  to — '  He  here  paused, 
ashamed  to  finish  the  sentence. 

At  the  moment  Ines  entered,  and  he 
turned  to  her  with  the  same  request,  but  she 
replied  to  it  with  even  more  firmness  than 
her  father  had  done.  She  begged  to  know 
'  if  her  brother  was  with  him,  or  what  had 
become  of  him?' 

'  I  fear,  my  dear  girl,'  he  answered  with  a 
sigh,  '  that  Alphonso  has  not  escaped  as  well 
as  many  others.  He  was  sent  on  rather  a 
dangerous  service,  and  his  party  was  almost 
entirely  cut  off,  or  taken  prisoners.  One 
who  escaped,  said  he  saw  his  officer  struck 
to  the  ground,  and  a  dozen  swords  aimed  at 

o 

him.  But  they  closed  over  him,  and  he  could 
see  no  more.' 

Senor  de  Montaldo  turned  deadly  pale,  and 
clasped  his  hands  in  anguish  at  this  dreadful 
account,  and  Ines,  with  a  shriek,  fell  back  in 
a  swoon.  Her  maids  were  called  in  to  attend 
her,  and  Zenovia  again  resumed  his  flight, 
leaving  the  father  and  daughter  to  the  indul 
gence  of  their  grief. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  hours  the  American 
army  marched  in,  and  took  possession  of  the 
city,  the  authorities,  and  a  committee  of  the 


principal  citizens,  xvaiting  upon  them  and  re 
signing  the  place  into  their  protection. 

Towards  evening,  Senor  de  Montaldo  yis- 
ited  several  officers  to  make  inquiry  about  his 
son.  He  was  received  with  politeness  though 
he  could  gain  no  information  whatever  :  but 
still  he  did  not  despair,  as  there  was  another 
division  of  the  army  not  yet  arrived,  and  he 
endeavored  to  comfort  Ines  with  the  possi 
bility  that  he  might  have  been  taken  prison 
er,  and  if  Clifton  discovered  him  he  would 
certainly  provide  for  his  safety.  But  in  spite 
of  this  small  comfort  they  passed  a  sleepless 
night. 

It  was  nearly  noon  next  day,  before  Ines 
rose  from  her  couch,  and  descended  to  meet 
her  father  below.  Seating  herself  in  the 
open  window,  she  reclined  languidly  in  an 
easy  chair,  her  mind  occupied  with  surmises 
as  to  the  fate  of  her  lored  brother,  when  her 
eye  fell. upon  a  small  body  of  men  approach 
ing,  in  the  United  States  uniform,  with  a 
wagon  moving  in  their  midst.  She  knew 
that  the  last  division  had  arrived  that  morn 
ing,  and  supposed  this  to  be  some  wounded 
soldiers  whom  they  were  conveying  to  the 
hospital,  but  how  powerful  were  her  emotions 
when  the  escort  halted  in  front  of  the  house, 
and  the  officer  who  commanded  alighted  from 
his  horse,  and  bowing  low  to  her,  requested 
the  privilege  of  bringing  in  two  wounded  of 
ficers. 

The  poor  girl  comprehended  at  once  that 
her  brother  was  here,  and  flew  rather  than 
ran  to  the  door,  where  she  met  her  father, 
and  seizing  his  hand,  without  a  word  hurried 
him  to  the  gate,  which  several  soldiers  were 
now  entering,  bearing  a  form  upon  their 
arms. 

'  My  Alphonso,  my  noble  boy/  cried  Don 
Carlos,  '  do  I  indeed  see  you  alive  once 
more  ?' 

*  Yes,  my  dear  father,  and  with  your  pres 
ence,  and  my  little  Ines's  nursing,  I  shall  soon 
be  well  again.  But  be  kind  enough  to  pass 
on,  my  brave  men.  I  have  a  friend  in  the 


SENORA  INES. 


wagon,  for  whom  I  have  promised  the  hospi 
talities  of  my  father's  house.' 

Ines  looked  eagerly  at  her  brother :  he 
understood  her,  and  shaking  his  head,  mere 
ly  said  '  Stanley.' 

The  men  bore  him  to  a  room  indicated  by 
Ines,  and  returning,  in  a  few  moments  placed 
Stanley  upon  a  couch  in  another  part  of  the 
same  room,  and  then  left  the  house. 

Ines  now  dropped  upon  her  knees  by  her 
brother's  side.  '  Tell  me,'  she  cried,  '  are 
not  your  wounds  dangerous?  Tell  me,  are 
you  sure  that  care  and  affectionate  nursing 
will  restore  you  V 

'  Yes,  yes ;  dismiss  your  fears  about  me. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  a  few-days  will  make  me 
quite  well  again.' 

Ines  still  remained  kneeling  by  him.  Sev 
eral  times  she  opened  her  lips  to  speak,  but 
her  words  died  in  an  inarticulate  murmur. 
At  last,  un&ble  longer  to  support  her  anxiety, 
the  words'  tell  me,'  escaped  her  lips,  accom 
panied  by  a  look  of  imploring  earnestness. 

Alphonso  glanced  at  her  face,  and  seeing 
that  she  needed  some  reviving  intelligence, 
pressed  her  hand  as  he  said,  '  He  is  well  and 
you  may  see  him  very  soon.' 

Ines  bowed  her  head  upon  his  hand  for  a 
moment,  then  rising,  she  touched  a  bell,  and 
glided  out  of  the  room.  Martha,  who  an 
swered  the  bell,  now  entered  the  room,  and 
kneeling  by  Alphonsq,  wept  at  the  state  in 
which  she  found  him. 


The  young  officers  were  not  dangerously 
wounded,  but  rather  weak  from  loss  of  blood. 
Every  attention  which  love  and  friendship 
could  devise,  was  bestowed  upon  them. 
Stanley  was  as  well  treated  as  though  he  had 
been  in  a  father's  rather  than  an  enemy's  house. 

Senor  de  Montaldo  and  his  daughter  lis 
tened  with  very  different  emotions  to  Alphon- 
so's  account  of  Clifton's  noble  conduct  to 
wards  him.  The  old  gentleman,  although 
he  felt  sincerely  grateful,  yet  regretted  that 
the  circumstance  would  only  increase  the  es 
teem  of  Ines,  and  as  he  noticed  her  sparkling 
eye  and  heaving  bosom,  his  heart  smote  him 
that  he  must  be  the  cause  of  sorrow  to  that 
gentle  heart. 

Alphonso  said  '  that  Clifton's  duties  would 
not  allow  him  to  visit  them  during  the  day, 
but  at  evening  he  hoped  to  meet  his  friends 
here.' 

The  day  passed  slowly.  It  seemed  to  Ines 
that  the  sun  did  not  move,  but  had  taken  up 
his  abode  upon  the  earth  for  a  season.  But 
the  day  did  pass,  as  days  always  will  while 
time  lasts,  and  as  evening  approached,  every 
sudden  noise  made  her  heart  beat  faster,  every 
step  brought  the  color  of  the  rose  to  her 
cheek,  and  then  blanched  it  to  the  hue  of 
death.  She  was  uneasy,  company  was  a  re 
straint,  and  she  was  glad  when  her  father 
went  out  for  an  hour,  attended  by  his  confi 
dential  servant,  or  rather  protege,  Henri 
Duvalle.  '  / 


CHAPTER    IX. 


Lo,  I  am  here  to  answer  to  your  vows, 
Aud  be  the  meeting  fortunate !— AKE.NSIDE. 


IIENT  Captain  Clifton  entered  the  city  of 
i,  struck  with  admiration  of  its  pictur 
esque  beauty,  he  was  thankful  that  they  had 
not  been  forced,  by  the  hand  of  war,  to  de- 
:  face»its  loveliness.  lie  knew  that  it  contain 
ed  the  only  woman  he  ever  loved  ;  and  his 
bosom  swelled  with  impatience  once  more  to 
hear  her  soft  voice  welcome  him  to  her  pres 
ence,  and  meet  a  glance  of  affection  from  those 
bright  eyes,  ever  beaming  with  gentleness 
and  hope.  His  duty  kept  him  actively  em 
ployed  through  the  day,  and  when  at  evening 
he  was  released,  and  prepared  for  his  visit  to 
a  mansion  where  his  reception  was  rather 
doubtful,  he  was  strangely  excited,  for  one  of 
his  usual  composure.  Taking  six  of  his  men 
to  guide  him  through  the  streets,  as  soon  as 
they  came  within  view  of  his  destination,  he 
dismissed  them,  to  return  to  their  quarters,, 
and  walked  rapidly  on.  He  had  advanced 
jut  a  few  rods,  when  he  heard  the  report  of 
i  pistol,  and  turning,  he  saw  in  an  opposite 
;treet,  several  men  struggling  together,  while 
>aths  and  execrations  fell  upon  his  ear.  As 


'  well  as  he  could  discern  by  the  light  of  the 
lamps,  one  man,  in  appearance  a  gentleman, 
was  defending  himself  against  three  or  four 
others,  apparently  of  the  lowest  order.  Fol 
lowing  the  first  impulse  of  his  nature,  to  help 
the  distressed,  Clifton  bounded  forward  with 
out  reflecting  upon  the  danger  of  throwing 
himself,  alone,  among  a  band  of  desperadoes. 

The  villains  were  too  intent  upon  their  ob 
ject  to  notice  his  approach,  and  had  just 
forced  the  gentleman  to  the  ground  ;  two  of 
them  searching  his  pockets,  while  the  other 
held  a  dagger  raised  in  a  menacing  position, 
in  his  hand. 

With  a  single  blow  of  his  powerful  arm, 
Clifton  sent  one  of  the  ruffians  reeling  to  the 
earth — then  seizing  another  by  the  throat,  he 
placed  a  pistol  to  the  ear  of  the  third,  and 
commanded  him,  upon  pain  of  immediate 
death,  to  rise  instantly.  The  coward  did  as 
he  was  told,  and  the  gentleman  sprang  to  his 
feet,  and  advancing  to  the  side  of  Clifton, 
prevented  the  trembling  miscreant  moving, 
by  a  firm  grasp  upon  his  collar.  Seeing  sev- 


SENORA  INES. 


oral  men  rapidly  approaching,  he  called, loud 
ly  for  assistance  ;  and  Clifton,  in  a  moment, 
had  the  satisfaction  of  being  surrounded  by 
his  own  men,  who,  on  leaving  him,  had  heard 
the  pistol,  and  observing  their  captain  change 
his  course,  had  followed  to  assist,  if  neces 
sary. 

The  ruffians  made  violent  efforts  to  disen 
gage  themselves,  but  in  vain  ;  and  they  were 
secured  and  marched  oflf.  The  gentleman 
thanked  our  hero  in  the  warmest  terms,  and 
turning  to  a  young  man,  who  was  just  at 
tempting  to  rise  from  the  ground,  and  whom 
Clifton  had  not  before  seen,  he  said,  as  he 
raised  him  up,  '  My  poor  Henri  was  struck 
down,  in  attempting  to  ward  off  a  blow  in 
tended  for  me,  but  I  hope  you  are  not  much 
hurt  ?'  addressing  his  friend. 

'  I  think  not/  he  answered ;  '  the  blow 
upon  my  head  stunned  me  for  a  moment,  but 
I  am  well  now.' 

The  old  gentleman  invited  his  champion 
to  accompany  him  home.  '  I  see,'  he  said, 
'  from  your  dress,  you  are  one  of  the  army 
now  in  possession  of  this  place.  I  will  not 
indeed  call  you  an  enemy,  you  have  perform 
ed  the  part  of  a  friend.' 

Arthur  however  declined  his  invitation, 
saying  '  he  was  engaged  this  evening,  but 
would  be  happy,  at  another  time,  to  avail 
himself  of  his  offer.' 

'  I  regret  much,'  said  the  gentleman,  '  that 
you  will  not  go  in,  this  evening,  and  receive 
the  thanks  of  my  family,  as  well  as  my  own. 
But  do  let  me  see  you  soon.  And  may  I  not 
know  the  name  of  my  preserver  ?  My  own 
is  Montaldo.' 

Clifton  started  in  surprise,  but  in  a  moment 
recovering,  he  advanced  to  the  young  man, 
saying,  '  I  see,  sir,  that  you  are  weak,  and 
not  able  to  walk  alone  ;  lean  on  my  arm,  and 
I  will  have  the  pleasure  of  calling  for  a  mo 
ment,  at  least.' 

Senor  De  Montaldo  preceded  them  into  the 
house,  and  Henri  was  placed  upon  a  sofa. 
Clifton's  athletic  frame  trembled  as,  turning, 
Don  Carlos  cried,  '  My  daughter — my  dear 


Tries — welcome — and  thank  your  father's  pre 
server.'  He  was  going  on  to  explain,  when, 
who  can  express  his  astonishment  to  see  his 
daughter  fall  into  the  extended  arms  of  the 
stranger.  Understanding  now  who  the  stran 
ger  was,  Don  Carlos  gazed  at  them  a  moment 
with  a  troubled  look.  At  last  approaching 
Henri,  and  saying  a  few  words  to  him  in  a 
low  voice,  he  rose,  and  they  left  the  room 
together. 

'  My  sweet,  my  lovely  Ines,'  whispered 
Clifton,  as  the  door  closed,  '  I  am  blest,  O, 
how  blest,  to  meet  you  once  more  and  know, 
that  though  we  have  been  parted  long,  you 
have  not  forgotten  me.' 

'  Forgotten  !  Ah,  Clifton,  what  else  have 
I  had  to  think  of  these  many  long  months  ? 
This  dear  pledge  you  slipped  upon  my  finger 
at  parting,  my  father  says  has  occupied  more 
of  my  attention  than  I  have  given  to  him.  I 
heard  that  you  were  coming  into  Mexico,  and 
the  idea  of  your  danger  has  been  ever  before 
me.' 

'  Did  you  not  receive  my  letters  V   cried 
Arthur  ;  '  I  have  sent  you  several  before  and    ! 
since  I  entered  Mexico.' 

'  Then  you  did  write  to  me  !'  she  exclaim 
ed.     '  O,  how  could  1  doubt  it  ?     But  when   ,' 
so  many  months  passed  away,  and  I  received 
not  a  line  from  you,  I  sometimes  feared — ' 

Arthur  prevented  her  finishing  the  sentence 
by  pressing  his  lips  to  her's.  '  Do  not  give 
those  ideas  words,  my  love,'  he  said,  '  you 
never  should  have  doubted  the  constancy  of 
your  own  Arthur,  who  loves  you  better  than 
his  own  life.  Never  has  a  doubt  of  your 
faith  entered  my  heart,  although  I  knew  your 
father  would  use  every  effort  to  banish  me 
from  your  mind.' 

The  tears  sprang  to  Ines's  eyes  in  a  mo 
ment,  at  these  words.  '  O,  Arthur,  forgive 
me,'  she  cried  ;  '  if  ever  I  distrusted  you,  it 
was  but  for  a  moment.  O,  never  longer.  It 
made  me  too  unhappy.' 

Clifton  smiling,  said,  '  Well,  take  care  that 
you  do  not  doubt  me  again  ;'  and  he  sealed 
the  oblivion  of  her  fault  on  her  lips. 


SENORA  INES. 


We  will  not  attempt  to  repeat  their  conver 
sation.  It  was  of  much  greater  interest  to 
them  than  any  one  else,  as  lovers'  conversa 
tions  usually  are  ;  beside,  it  would  be  scarce 
ly  polite  to  play  the  eaves-dropper  in  such  a 
delicate  case^ 

It  was  quite  late  before  Senor  De  Montaldo 
returned  to  the  room,  and  when  he  did,  it 
was  with  an  expression  of  suffering  in  his 
countenance.  Walking  up  to  Clifton,  he 
said,  '  Senor,  it  seems  to  be  your  fate  to  be 
constantly  placing  me  under  renewed  obliga 
tions.  This  is  the  third  time  that  you  have 
rencl.  red  my  family  the  most  essential  ser 
vice,  and  the  gratitude  of  a  life  cannot  reward 
you.' 

'  Ah,  sir,  you  have  it  in  your  power  to  re 
ward  me  far  exceeding  my  services ;'  and 
Clifton  pressed  the  hand  of  Ines  to  his  lips. 

Don  Carlos  looked  grave  as  he  replied, '  We 
will  not  speak  of  that  subject  at  present,  Se 
nor.  At  another  time  I  will  explain  all  you 
wish  to  know  in  regard  to  that.' 

These  words,  with  the  expression  of  his 
countenance,  struck  a  chill  to  the  heart  of 
Clifton.  It  seemed  to  him  they  foreboded 
some  cruel  ruin  to  his  hopes.  And  he  drew 
her  loved  form  still  closer  to  him,  as  though 
his  power  could  prevent  their  separation. 

Senor  De  Montaldo  remained  a  short  time 
silent,  then  told  Arthur  that  his  son  and  Stan 
ley  would  not  see  him  to-night,  as  they  were 
quite  fatigued  and  had  been  carried  to  their 
rooms  some  hours  before. 

'  Then  I  will  return  to-morrow, '  he  said, 
rising,  and  bowing.^'  You  mistake,  my  friend,' 
said  Montaldo,  laying  his  hand  upon  the  oth 
er's  arm.  '  You  will  stay  with  us,  certainly? 
I  cannot  consent  that  you  should  leave  us  to 
night.' 

Clifton  thanked  him,  but  was  again  moving 
towards  the  door,  when  he  caught  a  beseech 
ing  look  from  Ines,  which  brought  him  back 
to  her  side,  but  too  happy  to  be  convinced 
that  it  was  best  to  remain.  The  next  morn 
ing  Clifton  visited  the  invalids,  and  found 
them  both  meditating  an  attempt  to  rise,  say 


ing,  '  they  were  sick  of  confinement,  and 
wished  to  enjoy  the  society  of  their  friends 
below.'  The  captain  reasoned  calmly  with 
them  upon  the  folly  of  such  a  proceeding ; 
and  Stanley  gave  up  at  once,  as  he  was  never 
accustomed  to  dispute  the  wishes  of  his 
friend. 

As  Clifton  left  the  room,  he  was  met  by 
Henri  Duvalle,  who  told  him  the  family  await- 
I  ed  him  in  the  breakfast  room.  Henri  might 
;  have  been,  perhaps,  twenty-two  years  of  age. 
He  was  pale,  though  of  dark  complexion. 
An  expression  of  sadness  constantly  dwelt 
upon  his  features,  and  Clifton  read  in  the 
proud  humility  of  his  brow,  that  his  soul  was 
far  above  his  station.  His  countenance  seem 
ed  familiar  to  the  captain  ;  but  where  they 
had  met  he  could  not  conjecture. 

He  mentioned  this  idea  to  his  friends  ;  and 
Ines  said  '  he  often  reminded  her  of  Dr.  Du- 

j  PaSe-' 

'  Ah,  surely,'  answered  Clifton,  '  it  must 

i  be  this  resemblance  which  struck  me.  But 
of  course  it  is  because  they  are  of  the  same 
country,  as  I  have  often  heard  that  Marie 
was  all  the  child  he  had.  Has  this  Henri 
been  long  in  your  family?'  he  added,  turning 

j  to  Don  Carlos. 

'  About  thirteen  years,'  said  Montaldo.    '  A 
friend  of  mine,  while   travelling  in  France, 

|  found  him  in  the  streets.  His  father,  who 
was  one  of  the  lowest  class,  gave  him  to  my 
friend  for  a  trifle,  and  in  pity  to  the  child  he 
brought  him  away  from  so  unnatural  a  parent. 
Henri  remained  in  his  family  several  years, 
and  he  then  placed  him  with  me,  under  an  in 
junction  to  keep  him  in  his  proper  place,  as 
he  thought  it  folly  to  educate  him  above  his 
station.  But  Henri  has  at  different  times 
rendered  me  great  service,  and  observing  that 
he  possessed  an  intelligent  mind,  the  tutors  I 
placed  over  my  own  son  have  also  had  charge 
of  him.  His  low  parentage,  and  the  manner 
in  which  his  father  parted  with  him,  has  been 
a  source  of  continual  mortification  to  him.' 
'  Poor  fellow,'  said  Clifton,  '  I  pity  him. 

•  from  my  soul :  but  are  you  sure  there  was  no 


56 


SENORA  JNES. 


villany  in  the  affair  ?  His  pretended  father 
might  have  stolen  him  from  a  respectable 
family,  for  it  seems  contrary  to  nature  that  a 
parent  would  turn  away  his  own  offspring  in 
such  a  cruel  manner.' 

'  It  is  possible,  but  if  even  so,  I  know  of  no 
way  to  discern  the  truth.  My  friend  is  dead, 
and  Henri  has  no  recollection  of  the  home  of 
his  infancy.' 

<  Clifton  made  no  reply,  but  he  thought  he 
would  write  Mr.  Hereford,  and  make  some 
inquiries,  which  might,  perhaps,  lead  to  the 
truth.  The  captain  soon  after  returned  to 
his  quarters,  promising  Ines  to  see  her  often, 
if  her  father  permitted  it. 

Several  weeks  passed  away.  Stanley  had 
recovered,  and  was  at  his  usual  station  by  the 
side  of  his  captain.  Alphonso,  also,  was  now 
well,  and  preparing  to  go  to  Vera  Cruz,  and 
from  there  to  the  United  States.  Captain 
Clifton  visited  often  at  Senor  De  Montaldo's, 
who  sometimes  received  him  with  all  the  cor 
diality  of  sincere  friendship ;  at  others  he  was 
grave,  almost  cold,  while  his  appearance  de 
noted  the  conflicts  of  his  mind.  He  had 
grown  pale  and  melancholy.  His  step  was 
no  longer  elastic,  but  slow  and  wavering. 
Clifton  had  many  times  requested  an  inter 
view,  that  he  might  formally  declare  his  love 
for  Ines,  and  request  a  favorable  answer,  but 
the  subject  was  always  evaded,  and  now  he 
heard  it  whispered,  that  as  soon  as  Alphonso 
left  home,  his  fath'er  and  sister  were  going  to 
the  city  of  Mexico  :  of  course  the  motive  was 
to  remove  her  from  him. 

The  day  before  his  young  friend  was  to 
leave,  Clifton  went  as  usual,  to  pnss  an  hour 
with  Ines,  and  imparting  to  her  his  firm  con 
viction  that  her  father  would  never  consent 
to  their  marriage,  he  plead  with  all  the  ear 
nestness  of  his  deep  affection,  that  she  would 
consent  to  a  clandestine  union.  She  con 
fessed  that  he  possessed  her  whole  heart — 
that  a  parting  would  make  her  very  unhappy 
— yet  she  could  not  think  of  violating  her 
promise  to  her  father.  She  wept  as  she  said 
this,  but  in  a  moment  she  rose,  and  giving 


him  her  hand  she  said,  '  We  will  together  go 
to  him  ;  perhaps  he  may  relent.' 

Before  they  reached  the  door,  however,  it 
opened,  and  Henri  appearing,  said,  '  Senor 
De  Montaldo  would  be  glad  to  see  Captain 
Clifton  a  few  moments,  in  his  library.'  Lead 
ing  Ines  to  a  seat,  he  pressed  her  hand,  and 
followed  Henri  from  the  room. 

As  he  entered  the  room,  Don  Carlos  was 
sitting  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands. 
Raising  his  head,  he  pointed  to  a  chair,  then 
as  he  saw  Arthur  about  to  address  him,  he 
exclaimed,  '  I  know  what  you  would  say  ;  but 
oblige  rne  by  first  listening  to  me  for  a  few 
moments.  I  know,  Senor,  that  you  love  my 
daughter — that  you  wish  to  make  her  your 
own.  I  know,  also,  that  her  heart  is  entirely 
yours ;  that  to  force  her  to  marry  another, 
would  very  soon  give  her  a  resting-place  in 
the  grave.  And  believe  me,  my  friend,  I 
think  you  worthy  of  her ;  and  there  is  none 
on  earth  with  whom  1  would  sooner  entrust 
my  daughter's  happiness  than  yourself.  Be 
ing  forced  to  act  so  different,  from  what  an 
affectionate  parent  would  wish,  is  the  misery 
of  my  life. 

'  The  father  of  Colonel  Zenovia,  though 
much  older  than  myself,  was  my  most  inti 
mate  friend  ;  and  when  my  sweet  Ines  was 
an  infant,  we  made  a  sportive  engagement 
between  her  and  his  son.  As  years  passed 
on,  he  was  continually  pressing  me  to  prom 
ise  him  sincerely  that  our  playful  engagement 
should  be  considered  binding.  But  I  an 
swered  that  '  I  should  never  force  my  child  to 
act  contrary  to  her  feelings;  but  still  I  would 
mention  the  young  Zenovia  as  her  future 
husband,  and  she  might,  perhaps,  think  of  no 
other.  As  he  grew  older,  however,  I  saw 
much  in  him  to  dislike,  and  determined  un 
less  she  really  loved  him,  that  my  sweet  girl 
should  never  be  his. 

'  About  a  year  since,  Senor  Zenovia  was 
taken  very  ill,  and  fearing  he  should  die  sent 
for  me,  and  then  asked  me  to  promise  that 
our  children  should  be  united  as  soon  as  Ines 
returned  home.  I  refused,  and  after  exhaust- 


SENORA  INES. 


57 


that  they   were   base    forgeries,   though  the 
hand  was  well  counterfeited. 

'  Early  the  next  morning,  I  rode  to  his 
house,  eager  to  dissolve  my  promise  and  con 
front  him  with  his  villany;  but  judge  my 
anguish  when  I  found  he  was  dead.  Now 
there  was  no  retracting ;  my  oath  could  not 
be  cancelled.  I  hurried  home,  and  for  weeks 
after  was  not  able  to  leave  my  house.  The 
most  horrible  suspicions  have  sometimes  en 
tered  my  mind  in  regard  to  my  father's  death. 
He  was  invited  to  dine  at  Don  Jose  Zeno- 
via's  with  twenty  other  gentlemen  ;  and  from 
the  moment  in  which  he  left  his  friends  to 
return,  T  never  was  able  to  discover  the  least 
trace  of  him.  It  was  believed  that  he  was 
robbed  and  murdered  on  his  way  home.  Sev 
eral  years  after,  a  skeleton  ftas  found  hidden 
away,  and  partly  covered  with  rocks  and 
earth,  which  Don  Jo?e  insisted  was  my  father, 
and  I  had  all  due  honors  paid  to  the  remains ; 
but  I  never  was  satisfied  ;  and  since  Zeno- 
via's  death,  1  have  imagined  he  might  have 
known  more  about  that  death  than  he  chose 
to  acknowledge. 

'  Thus  you  see,  Senor,  how  I  am  placed.  I 
have  cenfided  these  circumstances  to  your 
honor,  believing  your  heart  will  not  condemn 
me  as  having  done  wrong.' 

We  will  not  repeat  Clifton's  arguments  to 
prove  that  a  vow  made  under  such  circum 
stances  could  not  be  binding ;  or  how  he 
plead  that  the  happiness  of.  his  children 
should  be  of  more  consequence  to  him,  than 
a  promise  so  given.  Don  Carlos  paused 
a  moment,  then  said — 

'  I  have  told  you  before,  that  in  my  heart  I 
would  gladly  receive  you  as  my  son,  could  it 
be  so  ;  but  after  what  1  have  said,  you  can 
not  surely  expect  me  to  see  you  married,  or 
that  I  should  consent  to  its  taking  place.' 

His  strong  emphasis  on  the  word  consent, 
and  the  piercing  glance  he  bestowed  upon 
our  hero,  made  his  heart  beat  strangely.  He 
looked  eagerly  in  the  face  of  Montaldo,  to  see 
if  there  was  anything  there,  to  explain  his 
equivocal  words.  But  he  turned  away  quick- 


53 


SENORA  INES. 


ly,  saying,  '  You  may  tell  Ines  what  I  have 
related  to  you ; '  and  Clifton  bowing,  left 
him. 

As  the  door  closed,  the  old  gentleman  said 

to  himself — 

'Will  he  take  the  hint?     Surely  if  he   re 
gards  his  own  happiness  very  much,  he   will 


understand  and  act  according.' 


Her  lover  endeavored  to  persuade  her  that 
it  was  wrong  to  delay  their  union,  as  some 
thing  might  happen  to  prevent  it  entirely  ; 
but  she  was  firm,  and  he  was  obliged  to  ac 
quiesce. 

The  very  next  day,  Clifton  gave  Alphonso 
several  letters,  and  begged  him  to  deliver 


those  to  his  mother  and  cousin  himself;  as  he 

thought  his  friend  would    find    a    visit    there 
As  Clifton  entered  the  room   where   Ines 

,   pleasant,  and   they  would  be  most  happy   to 
had  remained,   trembling    with   anxiety    and  1,1 

meet  one  who  had  seen  him  so  lately, 
suspense,  he  pressed  her  to  his   heart,   while 


his    eye   sparkled   with   hope    and  expecta 
tion — 

'  Now  my  love,'  he  cried,  '  you  will  not  re 
fuse  to  give  me  your  hand  ?  I  will  provide 
a  priest,  and  to-morrow  you  will  give  me  the 
right  to  protect  you  through  every  danger. 
Your  father  will  soon  forgive  us,  and  then 
we  shall  have  no  more  fear  of  Zenovia.' 

Ines  looked  up  at  him  in  amazement ! 

4  What  can  you  mean  V  she  cried  ;  '  have 
you  lost  your  senses  ? ; 

'  O  no,  I  have  just  gained  them.'  And  sit 
ting  by  her  side,  he  related  the  particulars  of 
his  interview,  and  ended,  by  saying  he  felt 
assured  her  father  would  be  glad  to  know 
they  were  married,  though  of  course  he  could 
never  consent  to  it. 

He  spent  a  long  time  combating  her  objec 
tions,  and  at  last  drew  from  her  a  trembling 
consent. 

'  But  not  to-morrow,'  she  said,  '  my  dear 
brother  goes  to-morrow,  and  I  should  not  be 
able  to  support  additional  agitation.' 


Montaldo  promised  all  he  desired,  and  re 
ceiving  the  blessing  and  prayers  of  his  parent 
and  sister,  he  left  them.  Clifton  engaged  a 
Catholic  priest  (as  there  was  none  other  to 
be  had),  and  thinking  there  was  nothing  now 
to  prevent  the  completion  of  his  hopes,  re 
signed  himself  to  sweet  dreams,  in  anticipa 
tion  of  the  morrow.  But  alas !  '  There's 
many  a  slip  'twixt  the  cup  and  lip  ;'  and  our 
hero  fourid  the  adage  verified  in  this  instance. 
Before  daylight,  he  was  roused  to  take  the 
command  of  one  of  the  three  detachments  to 
be  sent  out  to  guard  in  a  train,  which  was 
approaching  from  Vera  Cruz,  and  which 
General  Scott  feared  was  not  sufficiently 
guarded. 

D 

Captain  Clifton  had  but  an  hour  to  pre 
pare  in,  and  the  project  of  the  day  was  not  to 
be  thought  of.  He  wrote  a  few  lines  hastily 
to  Ines,  explaining  how  matters  stood  ;  and 
gently,  very  gently,  chiding  her  for  the  delay 
which  had  prevented  their  union,  and  he  left 
the  city. 


CHAPTER  X. 


The  mustering  squndron,  and  the  clattering  oar, 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed, 
And  swiftly  forming  in  th,e  ranks  of  war. — BYROS. 


IT  was  scarcely  later  than  sunrise,  when 
Captain  Clifton  rode  forth  from  the  city,  at 
the  head  of  his  company,  with  his  lieutenant 
as  usual  by  his  side.  The  warm  sun  shone 
brightly  upon  their  uniforms  and  glittering 
epaulettes;  and  they  rode  gaily  along,  chat 
ting  upon  every  subject  which  the  lively  fan 
cy  of  the  young  soldiers  suggested.  Noth 
ing  of  particular  interest  occurred,  until  to 
wards  evening,  when  they  were  descending  a 
steep  hill,  where  the  road  was  overhung  on 
one  side  by  huge  masses  of  rocks,  with  deep 
chasms  yawning  between,  as  though  thrown 
into  that  form  by  some  convulsion  of  nature. 
On  the  other  side,  a  low  chapparal  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  road  communicated  with 
a  ledge  of  rocks  extending  into  the  coun 
try. 

The  advance  had  reached  the  bottom  of 
the  hill,  and  were  crossing  a  little  valley  at 
its  foot,  when  one  shot  and  then  another 
whistled  through  the  rocks.  The  horse  of 
the  leader  reared, and  plunging,  nearly  threw 
his  rider,  so  sudden  was  the  movement. 


Wheeling  around  on  the  instant,  he  com 
manded  a  halt,  and  forming  his  men,  dashed 
forward  to  the  chapparal,  from  which  the 
shots  proceeded.  They  were  me'tby  a  show 
er  of  balls,  but  nothing  daunted  pressed  on. 

At  the  same  moment,  Captain  Clifton, 
who  had  commenced  descending  the  hill, 
saw  the  movement  and  the  eccasion  of  it; 
and  casting  a  piercing  glance  around,  he 
discerned  among  the  rocks  on  the  opposite 
side,  lances  gleaming  in  the  sun.  Instantly 
comprehending  their  designs,  he  divided  his 
men  into  two  parties,  and  giving  Stanley  the 
command  of  one,  ordered  him  to  charge  di 
rectly  through  the  rocks;  while  he  with  the 
remainder  dashed  down  the  hill,  and  entered 
from  below.  Leaving  their  horses  in  charge 
of  several  of  their  number,  the  captain  led 
his  men  on  foot  through  the  denies. 

Nearly  a  hundred  men  rose  from  their 
hiding  places,  as  the  small  company  appeared, 
and  presented  a  formidable  front  of  bristling 
lances.  Clifton,  after  a  first  discharge  of  their 
p  stols,  gave  the  order  to  charge  sword  in 


60 


SENORA  INES, 


hand.  The  guerrillas  were  too  intent  upyn 
saving  themselves,  by  placing  the  broken 
rocks  between  them  and  their  foes,  to  strike 
very  sure;  and  they  were  driven  from  rock 
to  rock,  leaving  numbers  stretched  upon  the 
earth,  by  the  fatal'  weapons  of  our  gallant 
company.  At  last,  panic  struck,  they  threw 
away  their  arms  and  sought  safety  in  flight. 
At  the  same  moment  a  number  of  flying  lan- 
ceros  came  rushing  down  from  above,  closely 
pursued  by  Stanley,  and  his  victorious  sol 
diers.  The  remains  of  the  party  now  disap 
peared  ;  and  the  captain  recalling  his  men, 
found  they  had  lost  six  of  their  number, 
while  many  of  the  enemy  had  fallen  to  rise 
no  more.  They  had  scattered  their  foes  like 
the  wind,  and  not  one  was  now  visible. 

Nothing  farther  obstructed  their  march, 
and  soon  after  noon  on  the  following  day, 
they  met  the  train  they  were  to  conduct  on 
ward  in  safety.  The  meeting  of  the  two 
companies  was  cordial  ;  and  when  they  halt 
ed  to  take  their  evening  meal,  each  party  re 
lated  the  incidents  of  their  march.  Clifton 
met  many  acquaintances  in  the  escort,  and 
inquired  about  old  friends  whom  they  had 
seen  more  lately  than  himself.  When  pass 
ing  through  the  rocky  valley  where  they  had 
been  attacked  coming  out,  they  took  every 
precaution  to  prevent  surprise;  but  they 
were  not  molested,  as  the  guerrillas  probably 
found  the  rocks  not  as  safe  concealment  as 
they  fancied.  When  they  were  within  ten 
miles  of  Jalapa,  a  large  body  of  lanceros  were 
discovered  hovering  near  them.  They  were 
mostly  on  foot,  only  a  few  of  the  officers  being 
mounted.  They  kept  just  out  of  pistol  shot, 
but  continued  in  the  same  direction  for  some 
time.  The  escort  several  times  sent  out  par 
ties  to  scatter  them  ;  but  they  would  evade 
the  attack,  separate,  and  seem  entirely  dis 
persed  ;  then  in  five  minutes  unite  again,  and 
go  on  as  before.  Suddenly  they  paused  a 
moment,  and  then  upon  a  signal  from  their 
chief,  darted  forward  for  the  centre  .of  the 
train,  which  they  supposed  to  be  of  the  most 
value. 


Captain  Clifton  was  stationed  almost  at 
the  exact  point  where  the  attack  was  made. 
Calling  upon  his  men  to  stand  firm,  they  dis 
charged  a  shower  of  balls  upon  the  guerrillas, 
as  they  advanced  upon  them.  Their  onset 
was  so  fierce,  that  though  many  oftheir  num 
ber  fell,  it  did  not  stop  their  progress.  On 
they  came,  with  their  long  lances  poised  in 
their  hands,  giving  many  severe  wounds.  At 
the  first  assault,  Clifton's  horse  was  wound 
ed.  .  Maddened  by  the  pain  he  became  un 
manageable  t  and  rearing  and  plunging,  he 
struck  down  several  men  who  were  aiming  at 
his  rider's  life.  Bearing  him  into  the  very 
centre  of  his  foes,  he  received  another  wound, 
and  fell.  Disengaging  himself  from  the  sad 
dle,  Clifton  sprang  to  the  ground.  He  was 
alone  and  expected  death ;  but  resolved  to 
sell  his  life  as  dearly  as  possible.  His  sword 
drew  blood  at  every  stroke,  and  many  fell 
beneath  his  aim. 

Enraged  that  one  man  should  make  such 
havoc  among  them,  they  hemmed  him  in 
close,  and  bleeding  from  a  dozen  wounds,  it 
seemed  that  nothing  could  save  him;  but  at 
this  moment  the  Mexicans  fell  back  on  either 
side  of  him,  and  the  faithful  Stanley,  at  the 
head  of  his  men,  reached  his  captain's  side. 
Throwing  himself  from  his  horse,  he  assist 
ed  Clifton  to  mount,  and  taking  another  him 
self,  they  spurred  back  to  rejoin  the  escort. 
The  guerrillas  were  now  flying  on  every  side  ; 
but  they  were  not  pursued  far,  as  there  was 
little  fear  of  another  attack.  Cupidity  had 
suggested  the  present  one,  and  they  fought 
with  more  courage  than  they  would  have 
done  under  some  other  circumstances.  The 
commanders  immediately  ordered  the  wound 
ed  to  be  collected,  and  in  a  few  hours  they 
were  in  the  city. 

Clifton's  wounds  were  not  dangerous;  as 
after  having  them  dressed  he  rode  into  the 
town.  As  soon  as  he  was  able,  and  released 
from  his  engagements,  he  hastened  to  Senor 
De  Montaldo's,  and  was  very  much  surprised 
to  find  the  house  locked  ;  and  judging  from 


SENORA  INES. 


61 


the  perfect  silence  reigning  through  it,  unin 
habited.  , 

For  a  few  momenta  our  hero  paused,  un 
decided  what  to  do;  then  recollecting  that 
there  was  a  cousin  of  the  family  residing  in 
the  city,  after  some  hesitation,  he  decided  to 
visit  there,  and  if  possible,  find  the  reason 
for  this  singular  movement.  He  was  receiv 
ed  coldly,  and  his  inquiries  answered  evasive 
ly.  Vexed  at  their  suspicions,  he  assumed 
rather  an  air  of  hauteur,  told  them  he  was  a 
friend  of  the  family,  and  having  been  absent 
several  da'vs,  he  was  surprised  on  his  return 
to  find  they  had  departed.  '  But  it  is  of 
little  consequence,'  he  said,  turning  away. 

The  gentleman  now  rose,  exclaiming  : 

'  May  I  ask  your  name,  Senor? ' 

'  Captain  Clifton,  of  the  United  States 
army,'  said  our  friend,  haughtily.  '  Perhaps 
you  rmy  have  heard  it.' 

Arthur  was  passing  out  of  the  door,  when 
the  gentleman  stepping  forward,  laid  his  hand 
on  the  other's  arm,  crying  : 

'  I  have  indeed  heard  that  name,  and  have 
every  reason  to  respect  it.  Forgive  me,  Se- 
nor,  for  treating  you  so  rudely.  Just  step 
back  to  a  seat,  and  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know 
of  my  cousin.  He  supposed  that  as  soon  as 
the  conquering  army  left  the  place,  it  would 
be  left  unprotected  from  the  hordes  of  rob 
bers  that  infest  the  country  ;  and  he  could 
not  think  of  exposing  his  lovely  daughter  to 
such  danger.  Therefore  placing  most  of  his 
valuables  in  security,  he  yesterday  started 
with  his  family  for  the  capital.' 

'  Did  he  leave  no  word  with  you  for  ? — ' 
Clifton  stopped  embarrassed. 

'  He  did  not ;  but  he  may  have  left  some 
message  with  one  of  your  officers.  It  would 
be  singular  if  he  has  not.' 

'  Strange  indeed,'  muttered  Clifun  to  him 
self.  '  But  are  you  sure,'  he  continued 
aloud,  '  that  they  were  provided  with  pass 
ports,  and  what  was  necessary  to  render  their 
ourney  secure  ? ' 

'  O  jes,'  replied  the  gentleman,  '  he  said 
»e  had  everything  prepared.' 


Clifton  thanked  him  for  his  information, 
and  hurried  to  his  quarters  ;  where  locking 
himself  in  his  room,  he  remained  several 
hours  a  prey  to  the  most  agonizing  emotions. 
He  felt  really  displeased  with  Ines,  that  she 
should  have  gone  away  so  secretly,  without 
leaving  the  least  message  for  him.  After 
what  had  passed,  he  looked  upon  her  almost 
as  much  his  wife  as  though  the  ceremony 
had  been  performed  ;  and  he  thought  she  had 
treated  him  ill.  That  Senor  De  Montaldo 
should  leave  him,  after  their  last  conversa 
tion  without  any  explanation,  surprised  him  ; 
but  that  Ines,  whom  he  almost  adored,  and 
whom  he  thought  the  most  perfect  of  women, 
should  consent  to  such  a  measure,  without 
expressing  one  word  of  regret  for  leaving 
him,  when  a  few  more  hours  might  have  unit-, 
ed  them  forever,  grieved  him  to  the  soul. 
Clifton  was  possessed  of  the  most  lender  and 
delicate  feelings;  and  though  composed  and 
dignified  in  his  exterior,  yet  when  he  formed 
an  attachment,  he  loved  with  his  whole  soul. 
No  son,  lover,  or  friend,  could  be  more  de 
voted  than  Arthur  in  all  these  relations;  and 
though  not  jealous,  he  was  quickly  suscepti 
ble  of  any  change  or  slight  in  his  friends. 
Too  proud,  however,  to  allow  such  feelings 
to  have  long  dominion  over  him,  he  roused 
himself  to  exertion,  and  although  he  could 
not  banish  regret,  he  very  soon  commenced 
as  usual  to  hope  for  the  best. 

The  army  remained  but  a  week  longer  in 
Jalapa,  and  then  set  out  for  Puebla.  It  is 
not  our  design  to  give  a  circumstantial  ac 
count  of  the  movements  of  the  army,  or  the 
sanguinary  battles  in  which  they  fought  and 
conquered,  but  merely  give  a  few  incidents, 
occurring  in  their  victorious  march  to  the 
capital  city  of  the  republic. 

They  remained  more  than  two  months  in 
Puebla,  receiving  supplies  and  new  detach 
ments  of  troops,  and  making  occasional  over 
tures  of  peace.  The  first  week  in  August, 
the  army  again  commenced  their  march. 
They  met  with  many  obstacles  to  impede 
their  progress  ;  but  nothing  could  daunt  the 


SENORA  INES. 


ardor  of  the  brave  troops,  they  still  pressed 
on;  and  on  the  18th  of  August  reached  the 
town  of  San  Augustin,  where  a  skirmish 
took  place. 

The  next  day  at  noon,  commenced  the 
battle  of  Contreros,  and  it  was  nobly  sustain 
ed  until  dark.  The  firing  on  both  sides  was 
incessant;  and  to  the  Mexicans  peculiarly 
fatal,  till  night  and  a  heavy  rain  closed  the 
scene,  by  separating  the  combatants.  Very 
early  the  next  morning,  a  portion  of  the 
troops  in  a  gallant  assault,  led  by  Colonel 
Riley,  turned  the  enemy's  batteries,  driving 
double  their  number  from  their  guns,  and 
taking  several  hundred  prisoners. 

As  soon  as  the  intelligence  of  this  victory 
met  General  Scott,  who  was  on  his  way  to  re- 
%inforce  the  attacking  party,  he  sent  General 
Worth  (to  whose  brigade  Captain  Clifton  was 
attached),  to  take  possession  of  San  Antonio, 
a  village  two  miles  distant.  They  attacked 
the  enemy  with  such  impetuosity,  that  al 
though  the  Mexicans'  grape  and  canister  flew 
like  hail  through  the  ranks,  and  put  many  a 
brave  fellow  hors  du  combat,  yet  there  was 
not  the  least  sign  of  wavering.  The  officers 
evinced  the  most  determined  bravery,  plung 
ing  into  the  thickest  of  the  engagement;  and 
there  was  no  hesitation  among  their  eager 
followers.  The  Mexicans  were  soon  forced 
to  evacuate  the  place,  and  were  hotly  pursued 
by  the  victors.  As  they  neared  the  city, 
they  made  another  desperate  stand  at  Churu- 
busco,  which  was  strongly  fortified  ;  but 
though  their  resistance  was  obstinate.the  im 
petuous  valor  of  the  United  States  troops, 
was  not  to  be  withstood.  They  carried  the  en 
trenchments,  made  many  prisoners,  and  pur 
sued  the  enemy  to  the  very  gates  of  the  city. 
Our  two  friends  had  not  been  idle  during 
the  combat.  The  young  captain  led  on  his 
brave  men  with  the  steady  courage  of  a  vet 
eran.  Twice  had  he  warded  a  deadly  blow 
from  the  breast  of  Stanley,  who  eager  only 
for  victory,  thougjit  not  of  himself. 

In  the  meantime,  the  commander-in-chief 
with  another  division,  had  taken  the  strongly 


entrenched  position  of  San  Pablo,  after  a 
fierce  action  of  more  than  two  hours  ;  all  of 
which  time  there  was  a  continuous  roar  of 
cannon  and  musketry.  The  Mexicans, 
though  having  every  advantage  of  position  and 
weight  of  guns,  could  not  maintain  their 
ground  against  soldiers,  every  one  of  whom 
was  determined  to  conquer  or  die  ;  and  the 
whole  armament  with  a  great  number  of  pris 
oners  were  taken.  Thus  ended  the  day. 
four  distinct  battles  had  been  fought  and 
won,  the  enemy  numbering  nearly  four  to 
one. 

The  next  day  the  army  marched  to  Tacu- 
baya,  within  full  view  of  the  city  of  Mexico, 
where  they  halted,  and  received  a  flag  from 
the  city  asking  terms.  Several  flags  were 
interchanged,  and  in  two  or  three  days  an 
armistice  was  agreed  upon,  Scott  dictating 
his  own  terms,  and  commissioners  appointed 
to  treat  for  peace.  On  the  8th  of  September 
the  negotiations  having  closed  with  as  little 
prospect  of  peace  as  ever,  and  the  armistice 
being  declared  at  an  end,  General  Scott  or 
dered  an  attack  on  MolinoDel  Rey,  in  which 
he  was  as  usual  victorious ;  though  with  the 
loss  of  many  of  his  brave  men.  The  next 
day,  skirmishes  were  frequent.  Captain 
Clifton  was  ordered  out  with  his  company  to 
reconnoitre  a  certain  point  of  the  enemy's 
fortifications,  and  to  report  the  probability  of 
success,  in  an  attack  upon  that  position. 
Vaulting  into  the*saddle,  our  hero  felt  scarce 
ly  himself,  without  the  presence  of  his  bosom 
friend,  who,  from  a  severe  wound  received 
the  day  before,  was  unable  to  accompany 
him.  Suppressing  a  sigh,  he  rode  onward. 
As  he  approached  the  works,  in  turning  a 
height,  they  came  suddenly  in  full  range  of 
the  enemy's  battery,  which  opened  upon 
them,  making  sad  havoc  in  their  ranks.  Re 
treating  from  this  dangerous  position,  instant 
ly  but  in  perfect  order,  they  the  next  mo 
ment  encountered  a  large  party  of  infantry, 
which  very  nearly  surrounded  them  ;  but  by 
his  usual  quick  thought,  the  captain  avoided 
that,  and  turning  aside,  they  passed  in  safetj 


SENORA  INES.  63 


through  a  route,  cut  up  by  ditches  and  rough 
broken  ground. 

Clifton,  as  he  prepared    to   clear   the   last 


effort,  he  raised  his  steed  erect,  and  made  a 
motion  to  ride  through  the  party  ;  but  twen 
ty  instruments  of  death  were  pointed  at  his 


ditch,  turned  in  his  saddle,  and  sent  a  part- 1  breast,  and  as  many  more  dark,  menacing 
ing  ball  as  evidence  of  his  good  will,  when  .  faces  lowered  around  him.  Seeing  the  folly 
his  horse  stumbled,  and  tightening  the  rein  to '  of  resistance,  and  feeling  the  effects  of  his 
prevent  his  falling,  he  en'deavored  to  spur ;  fall,  he  submitted  to  stern  necessity;  though 
him  over;  but  instead  the  horse  reared  and .  not  without  being  sorely  mortified  that  he 
fell  back  upon  his  rider.  His  men  saw  not!  should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy  as  a 
the  disaster,  and  in  a  moment  a  hundred ;  prisoner.  He  was  led  off  and  that  evening 
Mexicans  surrounded  him.  With  a  powerful '  taken  into  the  city. 


CHAPTER  II. 


'  Hist !  thou  man  of  blood,  the  sighing  breeze 
May  waft  tuy  secrets  to  the  light  of  day.' 


WHEN  Ines  de  Montaldo  received  Clifton's 
letter,  informing  her  of  his  forced  departure, 
and  expressing  his  regret  that  she  had  allow 
ed  anything  to  delay  their  union,  which  now 
he  feared  would  be  entirely  prevented,  she 
wept  as  she  thought  he  might  impute  her  un 
willingness  at  that  time  to  want  of  affection 
for  him.  Her  father  soon  after  entered  the 
room  unperceived,  and  seeing  the  open  letter, 
reached  forth  his  hand  to  take  it.  She  at 
tempted  to  draw  it  away,  but  he  held  it  firm, 
and  looking  into  her  face,  said,  calmly  : 

'  What  does  he  write  that  you  fear  to  have 
me  look  upon  ?' 

The  poor  girl  could  not  utter  a  word  ! 
She  dreaded  to  have  him  know  that  she  had 
contemplated  such  an  act  of  disobedience, 
and  burying  her  face  in  Her  hands,  she  await 
ed  her  father's  first  words. 

Reading  the  short  epistle  through,  he  ex 
claimed  somewhat  sarcastically  : 

'  Strange,  that  after  having  consented  to 
break  your  father's  promise  in  this  way,  you 
should,  by  some  capricious  fancy,  postpone 


the  mad  project  till  it  would  be  of  no  use. 
However,  as  you  doubtless  wish  to  be  very 
dutiful,  we  will  start  in  a  few  days  for  the 
capital,  where  you  will  be  secure  from  such 
persecution.' 

Ines  started.  '  Surely,  my  father,'  she 
cried,  '  you  will  not  go  till  he  returns.' 

'  Why  not?'  cried  the  old  gentleman  ;  '  de 
lays  are  dangerous.  Captain  Clifton  did  not 
think  of  delay,  when  he  saw  you  upon  the 
point  of  being  struck  to  the  earth,  or  when 
your  father  or  brother  were  in  danger,  though 
of  course  it  was  very  wise  in  you  to  ask 
delay,  when  his  happiness  depended  upon 
immediate  action.' 

Ines  turned  away  in  mortification.  She 
knew  not  how  to  explain  her  father's  singular 
humor,  so  different  from  his  usual  appear 
ance.  After  a  silence  of  a  few  moments,  he 
sat  down  by  her  side,  and  told  her  gravely 
that  she  must  prepare  to  leave  in  two  days,  as 
he  should  take  his  whole  family  to  Mexico, 
knowing  there  would  be  little  safety  for  them 
here,  after  the  army  left,  which  would  be 
very  soon. 


SENORA  INES. 


She  could  not  oppose  him,  and  therefore 
said  nothing ;  but  her  tearful  eyes  and  pallid 
countenance  betrayed  her  feelings.  She 
wrote  to  Clifton,  explaining,  as  far  as  she 
knew,  her  father's  motive  for  this  change  of 
abode,  and  with  her  eyes  raining  down  tears 
upon  the  paper,  she  entreated  him  not  to 
think  coldly  of  her  for  what  she  could  not 
avoid.  She  regarded  herself  as  much  his 
wife  in  soul,  as  though  the  sacred  vows  had 
been  pronounced,  and  could  never  break 
ker  vows  to  him  by  bestowing  her  hand  upon 
another.  Had  Arthur  received  this  letter,  it 
would  have  saved  him  many  miserable  hours. 
Don  Carlos,  though  he  had  determined  never 
to  break  his  promise  by  consenting  to  his 
daughter's  marriage  with  Clifton,  yet  he  felt 
it  was  a  cruel  vow,  and  in  his  heart  he  hoped 
his  friend  would  persuade  Ines  to  a  private 
union,  and  was  vexed  that  she  should  have 
prevented  it  by  what  he  termed  maiden  coy 
ness,  and  he  resolved  to  leave  the  town  im 
mediately,  we  fear  almost  as  much  to  punish 
her,  as  to  gain  a  place  of  safety. 

They  had  no  difficulty  in  reaching  their 
destination,  and  Don  Carlos  immediately  took 
up  his  residence  in  his  own  house,  which  had 
been  left  for  nearly  a  year  in  the  care  of  ser 
vants.  As  Ines  threw  herself  upon  her  bed, 
the  first  night,  she  thought  how  different 
were  her  feelings  a  week  before.  Then, ! 
happy  in  the  society  of  him  she  loved,  with 
the  prospect  of  being  united  so  that  man 
could  never  separate  them ;  now,  she  was 
alone,  had  been  hurried  away,  as  she  sup 
posed,  to  avoid  him,  and  brought  where  she 
would  of  course  be  persecuted  by  the  bane  of 
her  life,  Zenovia.  She  not  only  disliked  him 
for  some  traits  in  his  character,  but  despised 
him  for  his  cowardice.  She  had  heard  much 
from  her  brother,  of  his  shrinking  from  any 
service  where  he  would  be  exposed  to  danger, 
and  of  his  cruel  treatment  of  some  soldiers 
who  were  under  him. 

Had  she  never  seen  Clifton,  she  would 
have  disliked  Zenovia,  but  now  that  he  seem 
ed  destined  to  part  her  from  him  she  loved, 


her  soul  rose  in  abhorrence  against  him,  and 
she  would  sooner  die  than  unite  her  fate  with 
his.  Her  mind  was  very  much  depressed,  as 
she  thought  her  sudden  journey  might  pre 
vent  her  again  meeting  Arthur  ;  at  all  events, 
it  might  be  many  months  before  he  could 
reach  the  city,  and  the  dreadful  14th  of  Sep 
tember,  the  day  in  which  her  father  had  said 
she  must  bind  herself  forever  to  one  she 
hated — that  day  might  come,  and  there  be 
none  to  save.  Disturbed  by  these  thoughts, 
it  <vas  long  before  sleep  visited  her  eyes,  and 
then  the  most  frightful  dreams  harassed  her, 
and  the  morning  sun  was  a  relief. 

As  soon  as  Zenovia  found  that  Don  Carlos 
had  returned  to  the  city,  he  called  upon  them. 
Had  Ines  followed  the  dictates  of  her  feel 
ings,  she  would  have  received  him  with 
hanghty  coldness,  but  policy  made  her  treat 
him  with  civility.  She  was  obliged  to  se^ 
much  of  him,  but  his  society  was  distasteful  to 
her,  and  she  avoided  him  as  milch  as  possible. 
He  perceived  it,  and  having  heard  from  some 
of  the  servants  of  Clifton's  visits,  he  soon  af 
ter,  in  a  conversation,  mentioned  him  in  such 
a  manner  that  Ines  feared  his  suspicions 
were  roused,  and  she  exerted  herself  to  ap 
pear  indifferent  to  the  subject ;  but  her  in 
creased  color,  and  evident  embarrassment, 
did  not  escape  unobserved.  As  she  left  the 
room,  his  eyes  followed  her  with  a  look  of 
malicious  meaning,  and  he  said  to  himself: 

'  Then  it  is  true,  as  I  have  suspected,  and 
this  is  the  reason  why  I  am  treated  with  such 
indifference ;  but  have  a  care,  my  proud 
lady,  I  can  hate  as  well  as  love.  A  moment's 
hesitation,  when  the  time  arrives,  and  I  shall 
have  other  means  of  obtaining  my  wishes. 
Revenge  shall  be  my  study.' 

Slow  and  weary  the  months  crept  on,  and 
then  the  news  arrived  that  the  United  States 
army  had  appeared,  and  obtained  decisive 
victories  over  the  Mexicans  in  several  battles, 
and  were  now  at  the  very  gates  of  the  capital. 
The  armistice  allowed  a  suspension  of  hostil 
ities  for  a  time,  and  then  commenced  a  strug 
gle  for  the  city  itself. 


SENORA  INES, 


Just  at  evening,  on  the  second  day  after 
the  armistice  was  broken,  Ines,  restless  and 
uneasy,  unable  to  sit  at  home,  requested  her 
father  to  ride  with  her  a  short  distance  in  the 
city,  to  see  a  poor  woman  who  had  been  sick 
a  long  time,  and  to  whom  she  had  paid  many 
visits,  never  forgetting  to  accompany  kind 
words  with  something  more  substantial.  The 
city  was  quiet :  the  noise  and  tumult  of  bat 
tle  had  ceased  for  the  day.  Senor  De  Mon- 
taldo  and  his  daughter  visited  the  poor  old 
Roxa,  as  they  called  her,  and  were  returning, 
when  just  as  they  passed  nearly  opposite  the 
city  prison,  they  paused  to  allow  a  small  body 
of  troops  to  pass  them.  They  halted,  and 
opening,  discovered  a  prisoner  in  their  midst. 
But  O,  what  were  the  emotions  of  Ines, 
when  she  recognized  in  him  the  beloved  of 
her  soul. 

He  sat  proudly  erect  upon  his  horse,  with 
ati  expression  of  perfect  composure,  almost 
of  haughtiness,  upon  his  broad  brow.  He 
gazed  fearlessly  around,  and  though,  at  first, 
many  were  the  jibes  and  insults  cast  at  him, 
his  dignified  mien  caused  them  to  shrink 
within  themselves.  At  the  moment  that  Ines 
recognized  him,  forgetful  of  everything  but 
her  lover,  and  his  danger,  she  bounded  from 
the  carriage,  and  stretching  her  arms  towards 
him,  shrieked  his  name  in  agony. 

Clifton  turned  at  the  sound  of  that  loved 
voice,  and  would  have  sprung  forward  to 
meet  her,  but  the  iron  grasp  of  many  soldiers 
held  him  back,  and  struggling  in  vain  for 
freedom,  he  was  hurried  away.  Ines  fell 
fainting  into  her  father's  arms,  who  reached 
her  just  in  time  to  prevent  her  falling  to  the 
ground,  and  placing  her  in  the  carriage,  they 
drove  rapidly  towards  home. 

Colonel  Zenovia  had  witnessed  this  scene, 
and  he  understood  it  all  at  once.  Had  Ines 
seen  him  then,  she  might  indeed  have  shrunk 
affrighted  from  him.  His  eyes  glared  with 
the  fearful  light  of  a  demon's,  while  his  lips 
were  compressed,  and  his  hands  clenched  in 
his  rage.  He  remained  motionless  for  some 
moments,  then  starting,  he  muttered  to  him 
self: 


'  Poor  fools  !  do  they  think  they  will  tri 
umph  over  me  so  easily  1  I  will  move  the 
powers  of  heaven  and  hell,  but  I  will  foil 
them  yet.  She  shall  never  be  his,  in  life  at 
least.' 

He  walked  over  to  the  prison,  and  saying 
a  few  words  to  the  guards  at  the  entrance,  he 
passed  in,  and  seeking  the  keeper,  for  two 
hours  was  engaged  in  close  conversation  with 
him.  When  he  emerged  from  the  prison,  a 
smile  of  malicious  triumph  played  over  his 
lips,  for  he  thought  himself  now  secure  of 
vengeance.  * 

Donna  Ines  did  not  long  remain  insensi 
ble  ;  the  acuteness  of  her  feelings  soon  roused 
her.  Gazing  wildly  around,  she  cried,  as 
she  clasped  her  father's  hand  convulsively, 
'  Was  that  a  dream,  a  fearful  dream,  or  was 
it  indeed  reality  V 

Her  father's  saddened  countenance  an 
swered  her  question. 

'  O,  he  must  not  die!  you  will  save  him,' 
she  cried,  clasping  his  knees,  and  looking 
imploringly  in  his  face.' 

'  Calm  yourself,  my  child,'  answered  the 
old  gentleman,  '  he  will  not  die.  He  is  a 
prisoner  of  war,  and  will  merely  be  detained 
till  the  present  struggle  is  over,  and  then,  if 
not  liberated  entirely,  will  be  placed  upon 
parole.' 

'  But,  my  dear  sir,  Zenovia  saw  him  carried 
into  the  prison  ;  he  knows  my  regard  for 
Arthur,  and  I  fear  will  enter  into  some 
scheme  to  deprive  him  of  life.  I  believe  him 
capable  of  anything  evil.' 

'  Impossible  !  my  love ;  such  conduct  would 
be  visited  by  the  authorities  with  severe  pun 
ishment.  Clifton  is  my  friend,  and  I  will  use 
my  influence  to  secure  his  safety  from  all  se 
cret  plotting.' 

The  night  passed  heavily  away.  Ines  fan 
cied  herself  struggling  in  the  power  of  Zeno 
via,  and  that  Clifton  rushed  to  her  rescue,  but 
could  not  reach  her.  Then  the  scene  chan 
ged,  and  Clifton  lay  under  the  uplifted  dag 
ger  of  his  enemy,  which  had  already  drank 
his  life  blood,  and  he  was  rejoicing  in  the 


SENORA  INES. 


67 


completion  of  his  revenge.  She  rushed  for 
ward  to  die  with  him,  and  in  her  agony 
awoke.  Relieved  to  find  she  had  been 
dreaming,  and  still  fearful  that  it  might  prove 
true,  Ines  the  next  morning  called  Henri  to 
her  presence. 

She  extended  her  hand  as  he  advanced,  ex 
claiming,  '  Henri,  have  I  not  treated  you  as  a 
brother  ?  I  certainly  regard  you  as  such.' 

He  bowed,  and  glanced  upon  her  face  to 
see  what  was  coming  next. 

She  paused  a  moment,  then  said,  '  I  wish 
you  to  do  me  a  service,  as  a  brother  would 
do  for  a  sister  ;'  again,  she  paused. 

'  I  hope  you  do  not  doubt  my  willingness 
to  assist  you,  if  in  rny  power,'  answered  Hen 
ri  ;  '  you  have  but  to  command,  and  I  obey.' 
'  No,  no  !  Henri,  I  do  not  wish  to  com 
mand.  I  merely  beg  a  favor.  You  know 
that  Mr.  Clifton  is  a  very  dear  friend  of  my 
father,  and  that  we  are  under  numerous  obli 
gations  to  l*m.  He  is  now  in  prison,  and  on 
you  alone  I  depend,  to  find  some  means  of  re 
leasing  him.  That  cruel  Zenovia,  I  am  con 
vinced,  will  use  every  effort  to  injure  him.' 

'  Anything  that  I  can  do  for  his  release,' 
he  answered,  '  shall  be  done  cheerfully.  I 
think  much  of  Captain  Clifton.  But  tell  me 
what  you  wish,  my  dear  madam.' 

'  Thank  you,  Henri,  you  are  always  oblig 
ing.  I  wish  you  to  watch  the  movements  of 
Zenovia,  keep  constantly  near  him,  and  learn, 
if  possible,  his  designs.  Then,  if  you  can  do 
so,  find  in  what  part  of  the  prison  Mr.  Clifton 
is  placed,  and  in  some  way  deliver  a  message 
to  put  him  on  his  guard.  Will  you  do  this  ?' 

'  I  will  do  all  that  is  within  my  power,'  re- ' 
plied  Henri,  and  from  the  state  of  confusion  ! 
here,  by  reason  of  the  war  going  on  outside, 
I  may  be  able  to  do  as  you  wish.' 

He  left  her  immediately,  and  proceeded  to 
the  prison.     Mixing  with  the  guards,  he  en- ' 
tered  into  conversation  with  them,  and  affect- : 
ing  contempt  for  their  enemy,  and  rejoicing 
that  Captain  Clifton,  whose  name  was  so  well 
known  to  the  guerrillas  from  his  puissant  arm, 
was   in  a  place  where  he  would  not  trouble 


them  again,  he  gained  all  the  information  he 
desired,  of  the  place  of  our  hero's  confine 
ment,  and  also  of  Zenovia's  interview  with 
the  keeper.  Moving  carelessly  away,  he  ex 
amined  the  barred  windows,  till  sure  he  had 
found  the  one  he  wished. 

During  most  of  the  day  he  watched  the 
movements  of  Zenovia,  followed  him  unseen 
from  his  house  to  the  prison,  and  from  there 
to  a  low  hovel,  in  one  of  the  narrow  dark  al 
leys  of  the  city.  Here,  however,  he  remained 
but  a  moment,  and  then  went  home. 

Convinced,  by  what  he  had  observed,  that 
Senor  Zenovia  meditated  some  foul  play  to 
wards  Clifton,  Henri,  after  imparting  what 
he  had  learned  to  Ines,  again  set  out,  intend 
ing  to  convey  a  few  lines  to  Clifton,  if  that 
was  possible,  and  concert  some  plan  for  his 
escape  or  concealment  till  he  could  leave 
the  city,  or  his  own  army  entered.  Ap 
proaching  the  dark  alley,  which  he  had  before 
seen  Zenovia  visit,  he  heard  his  voice  speak 
ing  in  low  tones  to  a  man  by  his  side. 
Creeping  cautiously,  as  near  as  possible,  he 
stood  concealed  by  an  angle  of  a  wall,  and 
listened  to  their  conversation.  The  compa- 
!  nton  of  Zenovia  was  of  gigantic  stature,  but 
'  Henri  could  not  see  his  face. 

'  Colonel,'  said  he,  addressing  Zenovia,  '  I 
1  wish  this  bad  job  was  done.     These  Ameri- 
'  cans   seem  to  have   charmed   lives.      They 
1  have   always  fought  our  men  one  to  five,  ay, 
and  beat  them  too.' 

'  Pedro,'  said  the  other,  darting  at  him  a 
look  of  withering  scorn,  not  unmingled  with 
some  surprise,  '  do  I  understand  you  aright  ? 
Your  words  would  seem  to  imply  that  these 
northern  barbarians  have  charmed  away  your 
courage  and  senses  too.  Giant  as  you  are, 
you  have  no  reason  to  doubt  your  success  in 
this  enterprise  against  an  unarmed  man.  He 
must  certainly  sleep  to-morrow  night.' 

'  But,'  said  the  other,  '  this  Senor  Clifton 
is  not  a  small  man,  and  I  have  heard  many 
of  our  soldiers  speak  of  his  marvellous 
strength  and  activity,  and  should  I  miss  the 
first  blow,  he  might  overpower  me.' 


68 


SENORA  INES. 


The  colonel,  though  almost  bursting  with 
rage,  dared  not  give  vent  to  his  feelings,  but 
endeavored  to  soothe  and  encourage  the  old 
man. 

'  You  have  always  served  me  well,'  he 
said,  '  why  should  you  now  refuse  rne  this 
last  boon  ?  Assist  me  in  this,  and  the  other 
affair  I  mentioned  to  you,  and  that  will  be  all 
of  the  kind  I  will  ever  ask.' 

'  You  say  well,  master,  I  have  always  serv 
ed  you  faithfully,  and  have  done  many  black 
deeds  for  your  father  and  yourself,  without 
asking  why ;  but  now  I  am  getting  old,  and 
I  have  not  a  dollar  to  pay  for  masses  for  my 
poor  soul.' 

'  Is  it  the  lack  of  money,  my  good  Pedro, 
that  makes  you  raise  so  many  objections  ? 
Put  that  hateful  captain  where  he  will  trouble 
me  no  more,  assist  me  to  secure  that  proud 
girl,  as  I  told  you,  and  you  shall  have  gold  to 
your  heart's  content.' 

As  he  spoke  he  drew  a  purse  from  his 
bosom,  and  presented  it. 

'  Here,  take  thi%  as  an  earnest  for  the  fu 
ture.  Of  course  you  will  put  the  old  man  to 
rest  before  you  sleep.  I  shall  depend  upon 
you.' 

Pedro  dropped  the  purse  at  his  master's 
feet,  and  exclaimed,  '  Colonel  Zenovia,  take 
your  gold,  if  it  is  mine  only  on  that  condi 
tion  ;  for  I  can  never  harm  a  hair  of  his  head. 
That  good  old  don?  O  never!  It  is  quite 
enough  that  he  lias  been  denied  the  light  of 
day  for  fifteen  long  years,  without  now  closing 
his  life  by  violence.' 

'  Then  he  must  starve,'  said  Zenovia,  biting 
his  lip  till  the  red  blood  gushed,  with  sup 
pressed  rage  at  being  thwarted  in  any  of  his 
plans  ;  but  determined  to  conquer  his  passion, 
he  turned  after  a  moment's  pause  to  the  old 


man.  with  the  bland,  persuasive  manner  he 
so  well  knew  how  to  assume,  and  said  : 

'  Listen  to  me  a  moment.  You  are  aware 
that  this  braggart  captain  is  an  American, 
and  our  enemy.  He  has  come  here  to  assist 
in  destroying  our  country,  and  to  make  us 
slaves.  I  feel  it  the  duty  of  every  Mexican, 
to  take  the  life  of  any  or  all  of  them  who  fall 
in  his  way  ;  besides,  they  are  all  heretics, 
and  if  they  have  the  power,  they  will  burn 
our  churches,  and  kill  our  priests.' 

'  Enough,  enough,'  interrupted  the  old 
man ;  '  I  will  do  what  I  can  t«  exterminate 
these  intruders.  Give  me  directions,  and  I 
will  go  this  moment,  and  despatch  one  of 
them.' 

'  Thank  you,  my  good  friend,'  said  the 
colonel,  extending  his  hand;  'that  is  like 
yourself.  I  knew  as  soon  as  you  reflected  a 
moment,  you  would  be  willing  to  do  what  is 
right  for  me,  and  I  will  reward  you  bounti 
fully.  By  the  promise  of  a  heavy  bribe,  I 
have  prevailed  upon  the  jailor  to  mix  opium 
in  his  food  to-morrow  night,  enough  to  place 
him  in  a  sound  sleep.  Then  he  is  to  set  the 
door  ajar,  and  be  waiting  near  till  you  de 
spatch  him,  when  he  will  assist  in  securing 
the  body.  Several  of  the  bars  will  be  sawed 
through,  and  the  window  left  open,  that  it 
may  be  supposed  he  has  escaped.  Now  you 
understand  the  arrangements,  do  not  forget  j 
to-morrow  at  midnight;'  and  they  parted, 
that  man  of  wickedness  and  his  tool. 

Soon  after  they  disappeared,  Henri  stepped 
from  his  hiding  place,  saying  to  himself: 

'  Well,  I  have  discovered  your  villany,  and 
with  good  fortune  will  prevent  its  execution. 
Turning  into  a  shop  near  by,  he  pencilled  a 
few  lines  on  a  slip  of  paper,  and  walked  to 
the  prison. 


CHAPTER  III. 


'  Through  the  broken  portal,  over  weedy  fragments, 
Thalaha  went  his  way.     Cautious  he  trod,  and  felt 
The  dangerous  ground  before  him  with  his  bow.' 


WHEN  Captain  Clifton  was  brought  into 
the  city  as  a  prisoner,  he  thought  it  was  more 
than  probable  he  should  never  leave  it  alive. 
He  had  heard  that  Colonel  Zenovia  was  there, 
and  he  knew  enough  of  him  to  suppose  that 
he  would  leave  no  means  untried  to  free  him 
self  from  such  a  rival.  When  he  entered  the 
army,  he  took  his  life  in  his  hand,  and  if  he 
died,  it  would  be  gloriously  ;  but  to  perish  in 
a  Mexican  prison,  unknown,  uncared  for, 
even  his  very  captivity  kept  secret  from  his 
friends — the  thought  was  indeed  painful ;  not 
that  he  feared  to  die,  but  such  a  death  was 
appalling  .During  his  ride  to  the  city,  ke  dis 
tanced  the  rude  familiarity  of  his  guards,  by 
his  dignified  manner.  When  he  reached  his 
prison  he  turned  to  take  one  last  look  at  the 
light  of  day,  before  he  was  shut  out  from  it 
entirely ;  and  what  were  his  emotions  when 
he  saw  and  heard  her  whose  memory  had 
so  long  dwelt  in  his  heart;  and  when  forced 
away,  it  seemed  that  this  one  glimpse  of  her 
continued  interest  in  him  made  the  darkness 
within  still  more  dreary.  He  was  placed  in 
5 


a  room  alone,  the  massive  stone  walls  and 
heavy  grated  windows  seemed  to  render  all 
hope  of  escape  impossible.  But  even  could 
he  effect  that,  how  long  could  he  expect  to 
remain  free,  when  every  person  he  met  must 
be  an  enemy  ?  The  sight  of  Ines,  when  she 
so  unexpectedly  appeared  before  him,  dwelt 
upon  his  mind  as  a  presage  of  good  ;  and  he 
slept  as  soundly  on  his  pallet  of  straw,  as  he 
would  on  a  bed  of  down. 

Thr  (ext  morning,  when  his  breakfast  was 
broug»>t  in,  he  endeavored  to  commence  some 
conversation  with  his  surly  keeper  ;  but  he 
only  answered  in  monosyllables,  and  soon 
left  him.  Clifton  had  been  accustomed  to  so 
much  life  and  activity  for  many  months  past, 
that  the  gloom  and  silence  of  the  prison  de 
pressed  his  spirits.  At  evening,  when  his 
jailor  came  in,  he  tried  to  gain  some  informa 
tion  about  the  state  of  things  without  the 
gates  ;  but  he  maintained  a  sullen  silence, 
only  passing  around  the  room  and  examining 
the  windows,  as  if  fearing  he  might  escape. 
The  windows  were  high  and  strongly  grated. 


70 


SENORA  INES. 


As  the  night  advanced,  Arthur  drew  a  stool 
under  one  of  the  windows,  and  stepping  upon 
it,  stood  a  long  time  gazing  out  upon  the 
night.  The  moon  shone  brightly,  and  he 
thought  he  saw  a  man  walking  slowly  under 
the  windows,  and  looking  up  anxiously  to 
wards  him.  Having  some  curiosity  to  know 
the  meaning  of  these  movements,  he  pressed 
his  forehead  against  the  bars  and  watched. 
The  man  held  something  white  in  his  hand, 
and  several  times  made  a  motion  to  throw  at 
the  window.  An  idea  darted  through  the 
brain  of  our  hero,  that  it  might  be  intended 
for  him  ;  and  putting  his  hand  through  as  far 
as  possible,  he  saw  what  he  was  now  certain 
was  a  leiter,  ascending  towards  him  ;  but  the 
aperture  was  so  small  that  he  could  not  catch 
it.  Another  trial,  with  the  same  success ; 
and  then  the  man  after  some  delay,  placed  it 
in  the  crevice  of  a  long  pole  and  again  elevat 
ed  it ;  Clifton  this  time  took  it,  and  the  man 
instantly  disappeared. 

Opening  the  paper,  he  read  by  moonlight 
the  following  lines  : 

'  Do  not  eat  the  food  given  you  to-morrow 
night  ;  it  will  contain  death.  You  will  find 
several  bars  of  your  window  broken,  and  at 
eleven  to-morrow  night,  as  the  moon  will 
then  be  nearly  down,  if  you  would  escape 
certain  death,  open  your  window  and  come 
forth.  Just  under  the  wall  you  will  find 
arms  and  a  disguise.  Go  a  few  rods  straight 
forward,  and  you  will  meet  a  friend,  who  will 
conduct  you  to  a  place  of  safety.' 

There  was  no  name  to  this  note,  but  Clif 
ton  could  sot  dismiss  the  sweet  hope  that  the 
man  was  a  messenger  of  Iries  ;  and  descend 
ing  from  his  stool  he  retired  to  his  rest.  The 
next  d  ty  passed  without  anything  to  beguile 
the  tedious  hours,  but  his  own  thoughts.  He 
knew  that  the  letter  he  had  received  might 
be  a  contrivance  of  Zenovia  to  decoy  him 
'into  danger,  rather  than  to  save  him  from  as 
sassination  ;  but  he  preferred  at  least  dying 
in  the  open  air,  and  determined  to  run  the 
risk.  He  thought  as  in  the  song, 


'  1  take  thy  word,  for  in  a  place 

Less  warranted  than  this  or  less  secure 

I  cannot  be,  that  1  should  fear  to  change  it.' 

At  evening  he  was  removed  from  his  room 
for  a  short  time.  Soon  after  he  was  taken 
back,  his  evening  meal  was  brought  in 
He  regarded  the  man  who  brought  it  with  ab 
horrence,  as  he  thought  he  was  then  plotting 
against  his  life.  Of  course  he  ate  nothing  ; 
but  placed  his  food  under  the  mattress  to  pre 
vent  suspicion.  He  immediately  examined 
the  grating  of  the  windows,  and  found  three 
or  four  sawed  through ;  so  that  by  a  little 
exertion,  he  could  loosen  them  from  the 
wall. 

He  waited  impatiently  for  the  appointed  time, 
which  he  could  only  know  by  the  decline  of 
the  moon.  One  sound  after  another  died 
away  in  the  building,  and  all  was  still.  At 
last  he  thought  he  would  delay  no  longer. 
Gently  removing  the  bars  one  by  one,  which 
he  found  more  difficult  than  he  at  first  imag 
ined,  he  found  the  aperture  sufficiently  large 
to  admit  him.  Listening  some  minutes,  and 
hearing  no  movement  in  the  building,  he 
sprung  upon  the  stool  which  he  placed  under 
the  window,  and  with  a  violent  effort,  raised 
himself  to  the  aperture.  Here  he  paused  a 
moment,  and  looked  to  discover  if  there  were 
any  spies  ;  but  no  sound  struck  upon  his  ear, 
and  he  swung  down  the  length  of  his  arms, 
and  then  allowing  himself  to  drop,  reached 
the  ground  without  injury,  save  a  sound  shak 
ing  in  every  limb.  Moving  swiftly  along  close 
to  the  wall,  he  very  soon  discovered  the  arms 
his  unknown  friend  had  mentioned.  Throw 
ing  off  his  coat  and  plumed  cap,  he  donned  a 
Mexican  coat  and  broad  brimmed  hat,  and 
affixing  a  false  moustache  to  his  upper  lip,  he 
deposited  a  set  of  citizen's  arms  about  his  per 
son,  thinking  this  was  enough  to  assure  him 
of  his  unknown  friend's  faith.  In  a  moment 
he  was  moving  with  the  fleetnessof  a  deer,  in 
the  direction  mentioned  in  the  note,  and  had 
reached  the  borders  of  an  old  park,  through 
which  his  path  led,  when  he  heard  suppressed- 
voices,  and  saw  two  figures  advancing. 


SENORA  INES. 


71 


One  of  them  paused  a  mora-nt,  whispering 
'  hist !  did  you  hear  nothing'' 

They  both  listened  attentively,  and  glanced 
cautiously  on  every  side;  bit  all  being  quiet, 


cancy  among  the  servants ;  '  and  now  my 
dear  lady,'  I  said,  '  will  you  ratify  the  en 
couragement,  I  have  given  in  your  name, 
and  add  another  to  your  many  acts  of  kind- 


they  were  convinced  their  fears  were   imagi-  \  ness.'     She  consented,    and    I   accompanied 
nary,  and  advancing,  halted  opposite  the  place  !  Camelia  over  immediately:     t  have  seen  her 
where  our  hero  was  concealed,  and  within    a   several  times  since,  and  she  says  her  lady    is 
few  yards  of  him;    where  he   could  not  only  j  becoming  very  much  attached  to  her. 
hear  their  conversation,  out  see  their  counte-        '  Upon  my  instigation,   Camelia   has   told 


nances.     At  the  first  sound  of  voices,  he  had 


her  mistress  of  an  old  woman   who   was  very 


carefully  ensconced  himself  within  the  thick  kind  when  she  was  in  distress,  and  has  asked 
spreading  branches  of  a  shrub  pine,  of  which  ;  her  to  visit  the  old*  woman,  in  company  with 
there  were  many  in  that  part  of  the  park ;  i  herself,  which  she  has  promised  to  do.  This 
and  though  impatient  to  leave  this  dangerous  :  evening  I  saw  the  girl,  and  engaged  her  to 
vicinity,  he  was  of  course  obliged  to  remain  persuade  lues  to  go  with  her  to-morrow  af- 
quiet  where  he  stood.  ternoon.  The  old  woman  will  detain  her 

One  of  the  men  before  him,  although  the  till  you  arrive  with  a  carriage,  and  bring  her 
weather  was  warm,  was  so  muffled  in  a  cloak,  to  me.  I  shall  have  everything  in  readiness 
that  but  little  of  his  face  was  visible;  but  our  to  leave  the  city  immediately,  as  Santa  An- 
watcher  could  perceive  that  his  eyes  were  na  is  going  to  leave  with  the  remainder  of  his 


troops. 


lues  will  never  rnarry  me  willingly. 
I  am  determined  not 


piercing   and    restless    in    their    expression, 

while  an   enormous  black  moustache    curled    1  must  even  try  force, 
on  his  lip.     There  was  something  in  his   ap-   to  be  disappointed.' 

pearance,  impressing  Clifton  with  the   belief       '  But,  colonel,'  said  Pedro,  '  by  forcing  the 
that  they  had  met  before.  lady    away    in    this    manner,    you    will    lose 

His  companion  was  a  man  of  gigantic  her  fortune,  and  that  is  all  you  ever  cared  fur.' 
frame,  apparently  about  fifty-five  years  of  age.  '  That  is  true,  at  least  of  late,  but  1  do  not 
His  hair  of  mingled  black  and  gray,  hung  in  intend  to  lose  the  fortune.  The  moment  we 
tangled  masses  around  his  neck  and  face,  j  are  married,  I  shall  demand  it  in  her  own 
His  eyes,  deep  set  in  his  head,  overhung  by  name.  It  was  the  mother's  fortune,  and  was 
long  shaggy  eyebrows,  and  a  deep  cut  across  ;  bestowed  upon  the  daughter.' 
his  upper  lip,  gave  him  a  sinister  and  forbid-  '  Are  you  sure,  senor,'  asked  the  old  man, 


ding  aspect. 

'Well,    Pedro,'  said  the 


'  that  the  girl  will  do  as  she  says  ?     She   may 
first   mentioned    betray  us  to  Don  Carlos,  and — ' 


person,   resuming    their   discourse,    '  as  you 
have  promised  to  assist  me,  I  will  now  unfold 


'  O,  I  have  looked  out  for    that,'    said   the 
colonel.     '  The   girl  is    in  love  with   one    of 


my  plan  for  seizing  lues.  You  know  she  is  my  officers,  and  I  have  promised  him  to  her. 
very  generous,  and  will  risk  even  great  dan-  on  that  condition.  Now,  old  man,  do  not  fail, 
ger  to  assist  those  who  have  awakened  her  and  uncounted  gold  shall  be  yours.  See,'  he 
sympathy.  Two  weeks  since,  I  called  upon  continued,  pointing  to  the  west,  '  the  moon 
her,  and  asked  if  she  would  take  a  poor  or-  has  sunk  below  the  horizon  ;  the  signal  of 
phan  girl  into  her  service.  I  said  that  a  the  affair  up  yonder,*  pointing  to  the  prison, 
young  girl  had  applied  to  me  to  find  her  a  ;  '  Now  go,  and  be  silent  and  sure.1 
home,  and  I  had  promised  to  see  and  inter- |  The  old  man  moved  stealthily  away,  and 
est  a  young  lady  in  her  favor,  who  I  felt  as-  Zenovia, after  watching  him  till  he  disappear- 
sured  by  her  well  known  benevolence,  would  •  ed,  turned  and  walked  rapidly  toward  his 
protect  her,  even  if  there  should  be  no  va-  own  house.  As  soon  as  convinced  they 


72 


SENORA  INES. 


were  out  of  hearing,  our  hero  rose  from  his 
hiding-place,  and  moved  forward  into  the 
open  space.  At  the  same  moment,  a  figure 
stepped  from  the  opposite  side  to  meet  him. 
Knowing  he  was  discovered,  Clifton  drew  a 
pistol,  and  determined  to  await  his  approach, 
whether  friend  or  foe.  At  the  moment  he 
heard  his  own  name  pronounced  in  a  low 
voice. 

'  Ah,  Henri/  he  exclaimed, '  is  it  you,  this 
is  indeed  a  fortunate  meeting.  Did  you 
hear  what  those  villains  have  been  contriving 
about  entrapping  Donna  Ines  into  their 
power  ? ' 

'  Yes,  I  heard  it  all,  and  shall  repeat  it  to 
Don  Carlos.  I  presume  he  will  take  mea 
sures  to  secure  the  rascals ;  but  we  have  no 
time  to  stay  here;  you  will  soon  be  missed, 
and  a  search  instituted  for  you.' 

The  friends  now  moved  rapidly  on  togeth 
er,  Henry  detailing  all  that  had  passed  since 
Ines  saw  him  led  into  the  prison.  Clifton's 
heart  beat  proudly,  as  he  learned  that  his 
lovely  mistress  was  the  moving  principle  of 
his  rescue.  After  some  moments'  silence, 
Clifton  said — 

'  Henri,  you  may  tell  Senor  De  Montaldo 
that  if  he  will  select  a  party  of  men  for  the 
purpose  of  securing  Zenovia,  I  will  myself 
join  him.  I  think  I  can  do  it  without  fear 
of  detection.  He  would  scarcely  know  me 
himself  in  this  disguise.' 

'  I  think  you  would  do  very  well  for  a 
guerrilla/  said  Henri,  smiling. 

They  now  turned  suddenly  from  the  dense 
ly  populated  part  of  the  town,  and  striking 
into  a  narrow  alley,  soon  entered  a  space 
where  the  buildings  were  very  few,  and  of 
the  lowest  order.  He  stopped  here,  and 
turning  to  his  companion,  said — 

'Are  you  superstitious?  I  mean  are  you  at 
all  afraid  of  ghosts?' 

Clifton  smiled. 

'  Ah,  you  do  not  believe  in  ghosts,  then/ 
said  his  friend.  '  Well  so  much  the  better. 
There,'  pointing  a  little  distance  before  him, 
'  is  a  building  that  has  been  deserted  by  hu- 


• 

man  inhabitants\for  many  years.  It  is  said 
to  be  haunted,  ffom  strange  figures  having 
been  seen  entering  and  leaving  it  at  mid 
night.  Groans  have  also  been  heard  issuing 
from  the  ruined  ardhes,  and  when  it  has  been 
searched,  not  a  being  could  be  discovered. 
It  is  now  rarely  ev^r  approached,  and  has 
fallen  into  ruins.  A$  you  do  not  fear  the 
spirits  who  have  taken  up  their  abode  there, 
you  will  find  it  a  secure  refuge,  while  you 
are  obliged  to  remain  in  concealment.' 

Looking  cautiously  around,  he  stooped 
down,  and  moving  a  large  stone,  which  lean 
ed  against  a  dilapidated  building,  he  brought 
forth  a  small  basket  and  a  dark  lantern,  which 
he  handed  to  Clifton.  A  few  steps  farther  on, 
from  a  similar  concealment,  he  drew  a  glit 
tering  sword.  Our  hero  seized  it. 

'  Now/  he  exclaimed,  '  with  a  good  sword 
in  hand,  I  fear  neither  ghosts  nor  men.' 

As  they  parted,  Henri  said — 

'  If  you  are  determined  to  come  forth  and 
join  in  the  night's  enterprise,  you  had  best 
stain  your  skin  with  this  liquid/  handing 
him  a  phial  ;  '  you  will  better  escape  suspi 
cion ;  and  now  good  night.  I  shall  watch 
till  I  see  you  safe  in  yonder  house.' 

Pressing  the  hand  of  his  friend,  Clifton 
moved  away,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  grop 
ing  his  way  along  a  broken  wall  to  the  inte 
rior  of  the  building.  As  soon  as  he  thought 
he  would  not  be  observed  from  without,  he 
opened  the  lantern.  Looking  around  he  saw 
the  room  he  had  entered  was  entirely  without 
furniture,  while  several  of  the  windows  were 
broken,  and  a  gust  of  wind  rushed  through, 
nearly  extinguishing  the  light.  Following 
an  impulse  of  curiosity,  Arthur  traversed 
one  room  after  another.  The  doors,  many 
of  them  were  entirely  broken  down,  others 
hanging  by  one  hinge,  and  those  that  retain 
ed  their  upright  position  from  being  so  long 
unmoved,  creaked  painfully  on  their  hinges. 
The  walls  were  crumbling  in  pieces,  and 
covered  with  a  damp  mould,  rendering  the 
air  very  disagreeable.  Passing  quickly 
through  these,  he  paused  nearly  in  the  cen- 


SENORA  INES. 


73 


tre  of  the  house,  before  a  door  which  was 
locked;  but  the  key  still  remaining  in  it  he 
turned  it  and  found  himself  at  the  top  of  a 
flight  of  stairs.  The  air  that  met  him  was 
cold  and  damp;  and  closing  the  door,  he  sat 
dowi  upon  a  window  seat  and  mused  upon 
the  hte  which  had  condemned  such  a  vast 
and  splendid  pile  of  buildings  to  desertion 
and  lecay.  The  broken  casements  swung 
back  and  forth  with  a  harsh  grating  sound, 
while  the  night  wind  moaned  ominously 
through  the  crevices,  and  around  the  angles 
of  the  building.  If  Clifton  had  been  in  the 
least  superstitious,  he  would  have  imagined 
the  gloom  peopled  with  beings  not  of  human 
mould  After  sitting  a  few  moments,  he 
heard  or  thought  he  did,  a  low  groan.  Start 
ing  up  he  listened,  but  it  was  not  repeated, 
and  supposing  it  only  fancy,  he  resumed  his 
seat ;  but  soon  again  a  low  moan  met  his  ear. 
It  seemed  to  come  from  below.  He  rose  and 
immediately  opened  the  door,  which  led  to 
the  apartments  under  the  ruins,  and  con 
vinced  by  a  faint  and  distant  murmur,  that 
he  was  not  the  only  occupant  of  the  place. 
Snatching  up  his  lamp,  and  placing  the  bask 
et  of  provisions  on  his  arm,  he  descended  the 
stairs.  They  were  long,  and  at  the  bottom 
he  found  a  door  locked  and  without  a  key. 
He  made  several  ineffectual  attempts  to  force 
it  open,  then  turning,  he  retraced  his  steps, 
and  hastily  traversing  one  room  after  another, 
without  finding  what  he  wanted,  he  at  last 
stumbled,  and  nearly  fell  over  something  on 
the  floor.  Stooping,  to  his  great  joy  he 
found  it  was  a  flat  bar  of  iron,  which  had 
been  loosened  from  some  part  ofthe  building. 
Seizing  it  eagerly,  he  returned  to  the  door. 
With  several  powerful  blows,  he  battered  the 
lock,  so  that  with  a  great  exertion  of  strength 
the  door  fell  in  with  a  sudden  crash;  the 
hinges  which  were  nearly  rusted  through 
giving  way.  Throwing  down  his  bar  of  iron, 
he  passed  swiftly  on  to  another  door,  where 
the  key  remained  in  the  lock.  Opening  it 
he  paused,  for  he  heard  a  faint  voice  mur 
muring — 


'  God  is  merciful,  and  has  softened  his 
heart  that  i.  shall  not  perish.' 

Clifton  started,  and  shuddered  with  hor 
ror.  Walking  the  extent  of  the  room,  he 
discovered  a  door  made  entirely  of  bars  of 
iron.  In  the  centre,  was  a  small  square  ap 
erture,  sufficiently  large  to  admit  a  man's 
arm. 

'O,' cried  a  feeble  voice  within,  in  the 
Mexican  language,  '  then  you  have  come  to 
give  me  food,  and  I  shall  not  starve.' 

'  Starving,'  cried  Arthur, '  O,  this  is  horri 
ble  ;  but  you  shall  not  starve,  I  will  feed 
you.' 

'  O,  Pedro,'  said  the  voice,  '  do  not  delay, 
or  I  shall  die  before  you  reach  me  ;  the  death 
agony  seems  even  now  at  my  vitals.' 

'  I  am  not  Pedro,'  answered  Clifton,  '  but 
I  will  give  you  food  ;  '  and  taking  a  biscuit 
from  the  basket  he  had  continued  to  hold  on 
his  arm,  he  reached  it  through  the  aperture. 
It  was  so  dirk  within,  that  Clifton  could  not 
see  the  being  he  was  trying  to  feed. 

'  Ah,'  cried  the  poor  man,  '  I  cannot  reach 
it.  I  have  not  tasted  food  for  three  days,and 
am  too  weak  to  rise.' 

'  Do  not  despair,  my  poor  friend  ;  I  will 
find  means  to  get  it  to  you.' 

Dipping  the  biscuit  in  some  water,  he 
placed  it  upon  the  point  of  his  sword,  and 
reaching  through,  the  perishing  man  seized 
and  conveyed  it  to  his  lips. 

'  O,  bless  you,  kind  senor,  whoever  you 
are,'  he  cried  in  faltering  accents ;  '  this  will 
prolong  my  life.' 

Arthur  cautioned  him  not  to  eat  too  much 
at  first,  as  it  would  injure  rather  than  restore 
him  ;  and  then  attempted  to  loosen  tjje  grates 
of  his  prison,  but  they  resisted  all  his  effort?. 

In  a  short  time  the  old  man  (for  such  he 
seemed  to  be),  by  a  great  effort  raised  upon 
his  knees,  and  clinging  to  the  b.ars,  said  very 
feebly — 

'  O,  senor,  let  me  have  one  look  upon 
your  kind  face  ;  you  are  not  Zenovia,  or  one 
sent  by  him  ;  bless  you,  O  bless  you  ; '  and 
losing  his  hold,  he  fell  back  motionless. 


74 


SENORA  INE& 


Clifton  called  to  him  repeatedly,  but  he 
moved  not,  he  had  fainted  fropi  exhaustion. 
Almost  wild  with  the  fear  that  he  would  die 
before  he  could  reach  him,  Arthur  caught 
up  his  lamp,  bounded  from  the  place,  and 
hastened  to  where  he  had  left  the  iron  bar. 
Seizing  it  eagerly,  he  returned,  and  finding 
the  old  man  lying  in  the  same  state,  he  now 
used  almost  frantic  efforts  to  break  the  door. 
At  last,  when  he  feared  he  must  give  up  in 
despair,  one  of  the  grates  loosened  and  fell 
to  the  ground. 

'  Thank  Heaven  ! '  washis  joyful  exclama 
tion. 


Another  and  yet  another  yielded  to  his 
powerful  arm,  till  the  aperture  was  large 
enough  to  admit  him.  Passing  through  it  on 
the  instant,  he  took  the  old  man  in  his  irms, 
and  carried  him  to  a  mattress  spread  in  one 
corner  of  the  dungeon,  and  there  kneeling  by 
his  side,  bathed  hig  face  in  the  best  he  had, 
cold  water,  and  poured  a  portion  of  L  into 
his  mouth.  It  was  a  long  time  befo  e  the 
poor  man  gave  any  signs  of  life,  and  tien  he 
did  not  seem  to  realize  his  situation.  Mur 
mured  blessings  were  constantly  on  hi*  lips; 
but  further  than  that  he  was  not  sensible. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


'  And  thus  the  villain's  treachery  is  unmasked, 
And  the  bright  sun  shines  on  hie  damning  deed.' 


THE  morning  light  found  Clifton  yet  at  his 
post,  and  the  hour  of  noon  showed  him  in  the 
same  position.  The  old  man  had  several 
times  roused  himself  sufficiently  to  take  a  lit 
tle  food,  and  his  watcher  had  nursed  him 
with  the  care  of  a  son.  He  had  himself  eaten 
nothing  since  the  morning  before,  but  he  felt 
not  the  need  of  food,  and  for  worlds  he  would 
not  have  taken  one  morsel  of  what  might 
save  the  life  of  the  perishing  creature  before 
him. 

Soon  after  noon,  the  old  man  awoke  from 
a  quiet  sleep  of  several  hours.  He  was  no 
Jonger  oppressed  with  a  stupor  ;  his  senses 
were  clear,  though  he  was  very  weak. 

Taking  the  hand  of  his  young  attendant, 
he  kissed  it  repeatedly,  and  then  raised  it  to 
heaven,  while  his  lips  murmured  blessings 
on  his  head.  Our  hero  again  supplied  him 
with  food  and  water,  and  after  he  had  finish 
ed,  asked  him  gently  why  he  was  there,  and 
what  person  could  be  guilty  of  such  atrocity 
as  to  confine  him  in  that  fearfti'  place. 


'  I  have  not  yet  strength  to-repeat  the  tale/ 
sighed  the  invalid  ;  '  very  soon  I  will  teil  you. 
But  first,  my  dear  senor,  tell  me  how  you 
came  to  wander  to  this  place,  in  which  for 
fifteen  years  I  have  never  seen  a  human  being 
save  my  jailors?  You  speak  our  language, 
but,  I  think,  are  not  a  Mexican.  And  tell 
me,  is  it  true  that  this  city  is  besieged  by  a 
foreign  army,  as  I  have  been  informed  ?' 

'  It  is  true  !  and  I  am  one  of  that  army  ; 
but  do  not  fear  me  on  that  account.  I  will 
save  you  from  this  dungeon,  and  protect  you 
with  my  Hie.  I  was  taken  prisoner  in  a 
skirmish,  a  few  days  since,  but  having  es 
caped  from  my  prison  wandered  here  for 
safety  ;  and  I  am  truly  thankful  that  my  mis 
fortunes  have  enabled  me  to  save  a  fellow- 
creature  from  so  cruel  a  death  as  that  to 
which  you  were  doomed.' 

'  The  holy  virgin  will  bless  you,  senor. 
But  tell  me  more  about  yourself.  I  love  to 
hear  you  speak,  and  it  has  been  so  long  since 
I  have  looked  upon  a  face  but  that  of  those 


76 


SENORA  INES. 


merciless  beings,  who  at  last  left  me  here  to  1  mind  against  me,  and  though  still  openly  pro- 
dim  eyes   fessing  the  warmest  friendship,  he  in  secret 
meditated  revenge. 


perish,  that  I   cannot  remove  my 
from  your  face.' 


Arthur,  to  please  the  old  man,  related 
some  incidents  of  his  life,  mentioned  his 
coming  into  Mexico,  gave  a  slight  account  of 
the  success  of  their  arms,  and  then  touched 
upon  his  acquaintance  with  Senor  de  Montal- 
do  and  family,  and  the  villany  of  Zenovia. 

The  old  man  listened  attentively,  and  at 
the  close  raised  his  clasped  hands  to  heaven, 
crying,  '  O,  Powers  of  Mercy,  I  thank  thee. 
Thou  hast  sent  this  man  to  bring  wickedness 
to  light,  to  preserve  the  innocent,  and  punish 
the  guilty,  and  to  restore  thy  servant  once 
more  to  the  bosorn  of  his  family.' 

Clifton  looked  at  him  eagerly. 

'  Who  then  are  you  ?'  he  said ;  '  who  are 
your  family,  and  who  has  confined  you  so 
many  years  in  this  gloomy  place  ?' 

The  old  man  desired  to  be  raised,  that  he 
might  sit  up  on  his  bed.  He  appeared  to  be 
very  old.  His  hair,  white  as  the  driven 
snow,  hung  upon  his  shoulders  ;  his  beard,  of 
the  same  color,  flowed  down  upon  his  breast. 
His  face  was  colorless,  and  he  was  thin  to 
e  naciation.  Clifton  raised  and  supported 
him  on  his  breast. 

Turning  his  eyes  upon  Clifton,  he  said, 
'  My  family  was  one  of  the  first  in  Mexico, 
possessing  wealth  and  influence.  I  have  held 
many  public  offices,  and  have  ranked  high  in 
the  nation.  I  had  many  friends  and  but  few 
enemies.  I  had  an  angel  wife,  who  died  a 
few  years  after  our  marriage,  leaving  me  with 
one  only  child,  a  son,  and  he  was  all  that  a 
parent  coujd  wish.  He  loved  me  with  ardent 
devotion,  and  when  he  brought  one  to  his 
home,  lovely,  accomplished,  and  every  way 
worthy  of  him,  though  he  idolized  her,  there 
was  no  diminution  in  his  reverence  for  me. 
I  had  a  friend,  at  least  one  who  called  him 
self  such,  but  we  were  opposed  in  politics. 
Many  times  we  were  opposing  candidates  for 
office,  and  as  fortune  would  have  it,  I  was 
usually  elected  against  him.  I  knew  it  not 
then,  but  it  seems  that  this  embittered  his 


'  About  fifteen  years  since  we  were  placed 
again  in  opposition.  For  some  time  the  con 
test  was  doubtful,  but  at  last  it  seemed  in 
clining  in  my  favor.  At  this  time  I  was  in 
vited,  with  some  twenty  gentlemen,  to  dine  at 
his  house.  The  time  passed  as  usual  on 
such  occasions.  Mirth  arid  hilarity  reigned  ; 
gay  conversation,  in  which  all  mention  of 
politics  was  avoided,  occupied  the  evening. 
It  was  late  before  the  party  separated,  and 
my  friend  detained  me  a  few  moments,  to  lis 
ten  to  some  new  project  he  had  just  started, 
and  then,  mounting  my  horse,  I  rode  slowly 
towards  home.  I  had  proceeded  but  a  little 
distance,  when  a  gigantic  man  started  up  be 
fore  me,  and  giving  my  horse  a  severe  blow, 
he  started  aside  so  suddenly,  that  carelessly 
as  I  was  sitting,  I  was  thrown  to  the  ground. 
An  iron  grasp  was  placed  upon  my  shoulder, 
a  cloak  thrown  over  my  head,  and  I  was 
dragged  swiftly  away.  I  struggled  to  free 
myself,  to  cry  for  help,  but  the  fall  from  my 
horse  had  bruised  me,  and  my  mouth  was  so 
closely  covered,  that  I  could  not  make  an  au 
dible  sound.  My  captor  paused  several 
times,  as  if  to  take  breath,  and  then  pursued 
his  course.  I  was  very  soon  brought  into  a 
house,  as  I  knew  by  the  change  of  air,  and 
the  echo  of  his  footsteps. 

'  1  was  dragged  down  a  flight  of  steps, 
through  several  doors,  which  were  locked 
after  us,  and  then  into  this  room.  I  was 
placed  upon  a  mattress,  and  then  I  knew,  by 
retreating  footsteps,  that  I  was  about  to  be 
left  alone.  From  being  dragged  along  over 
a  rough  road,  in  such  a  harsh  manner,  my 
limbs  were  so  bruised  and  sore,  that  it  was 
with  the  greatest  difficulty  I  could  more. 
After  several  painful  efforts  I  succeeded  in 
removing  the  muffling  from  my  head,  and 
rose  upon  my  hands  and  knees.  I  was  in 
I  called  aloud,  I  shout- 
least  be  allowed  a  light, 


complete  darkness, 
ed,  I  begged  to  at 
that  I  might  view  my  prison — but  echo  only 


SENORA  INES. 


<' 


answered.  The  floor  was  of  stone,  and  the 
walls  of  the  same  material.  This,  and  the 
damp,  cold  air  I  breathed,  convinced  me  that 
I  was  under  ground,  probably  in  a  dungeon, 
from  which  I  should  never  be  allowed  to 
move.  I  am  not  naturally  fearful,  but  then 
an  irresistible  horror  took  possession  of  my 
faculties,  and  falling  upon  my  face,  I  remain 
ed  in  a  state  between  stupor  and  faintness, 
how  long  I  know  not,  but  probably  several 
hours. 

'  When  I  came  to  myself,  I  was  lying  in 
the  same  position,  but  light  shone  around  me, 
and  I  heard  whispered  voices  near.  I  made 
an  attempt  to  turn,  but  my  limbs  were  so 
stiff  and  swollen,  and  pained  me  so  cruelly, 
that  I  could  not  stir.  Some  one  now  ap 
proached,  and  rough  hands  raised  me  up, 
placing  me  on  the  mattress.  The  pain  was 
so  excruciating,  that  I  groaned  in  agony. 
Raising  my  eyes  I  saw  the  same  giant  form 
bending  over  me  which  I  had  seen  once  be 
fore,  and  at  a  little  distance,  he  who  had 
pretended  such  devoted  friendship  for  me, 
stood  gazing  with  a  cold,  indifferent  look, 
upon  one  whom  he  had  so  villanously  en 
trapped. 

1  Turning  my  eyes  full  upon  his  face,  with 
the  powerful  emotions  of  my  soul  speaking 
from  them,  he  turned  pale,  and  quailed  be 
neath  the  glance.  Turning  away,  he  ad 
dressed  a  few  words  to  his  servant,  and  walk 
ed  towards  the  door.  Then  all  my  indigna 
tion  against  my  false  friend  gave  way  to  the 
horrible  idea  of  being  shut  up  in  darkness, 
denied  the  blessed  light  of  heaven,  and  sepa 
rated  from  my  family  and  friends.  In  vain  I 
begged  him  to  stay  and  answer  my  questions  ; 
he  turned  away,  with  a  sneering  reply,  that 
important  business  demanded  his  attention. 
Then  all  my  indignation  burst  forth.  I  de 
nounced  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  upon  his 
wicked  head,  told  him  he  would  never  be 


happy,  that  the  memory  of  this  deed  would 
haunt  him  while  he  lived,  and  render  his 
death  bed  one  of  horror  insupportable. 

;  He  dashed  out  of  the  room,  and,  mutter 
ing  curses,  disappeared.  I  fell  back  upon 
the  bed  completely  exhausted.  Excitement 
had  lent  me  temporary  strength,  but  that 
was  over,  and  I  now  lay,  quite  unable  to 
move,  while  my  attendant  bathed  my  limbs, 
and,  binding  them  up,  presented  me  some 
food  ;  but  1  could  not  eat,  and  putting  it 
aside,  requested,  in  as  calm  a  tone  as  I  could 
assume,  to  know  the  reason  of  this  outrage. 
Pedro,  for  that  was  his  name,  said  I  was 
placed  here  by  the  order  of  Don  Jose  Zeno- 
via,  in  revenge,  because  I  had  so  long  thwart 
ed  his  wishes,  and  mortified  his  pride,  and 
now,  on  my  removal,  he  expected  to  gain  his 
election,  which  would  otherwise  fall  upon 
myself. 

'  But  surely,'  I  cried,  '  he  does  not  think 
to  keep  me  here  unknown  to  all  my  friends. 
My  son,  I  know,  will  ferret  out  his  villany, 
and  I  shall  not  long  remain  here.' 

4  The  man  shook  his  head  at  this  remark. 

' "  Alas,  senor,"  he  said,  "  I  fear  you  will  be 
disappointed.  This  old  edifice  belongs  to  the 
Zenovia  estate,  and  for  many  years  has  been 
totally  deserted,  and  even  bears  the  name  of 
being  haunted.  No  one  thinks  of  coming 
here,  and  Zenovia  has  taken  his  measures  so 
effectually,  that  there  can  be  no  discovery,  or 
even  suspicion  to  fall  upon  him.  It  will  be 
supposed  that  you  have  been  robbed  and 
murdered."  After  a  pause  of  a  moment,  he 
added  : 

'  "  Senor  Zenovia  intends  to  confine  you 
here  through  life.  You  will  have  food  and 
lights  brought  you,  and  will  be  obliged  to 
content  yourself  with  your  fate."  He  soon 
after  left  me,  and  for  three  days  I  did  not  see 
him  again.  For  a  short  time  I  was  support 
ed  by  indignation,  but  it  did  not  last  long  ; 


78 


SENORA  INES. 


my  spirits  would  not  keep  up  under'  such 
dreary  solitude,  and  the  knowledge  that  it 
was  to  be  forever. 

'  When  Pedro  came  again,  I  was  humble 
as  a  child,  and  besought  him  to  tell  Zenovia, 
that  if  he  would  free  me,  restore  me  again  to 
life  and  liberty,  I  would  swear  solemnly  nev 
er  to  disclose  what  had  passed,  but  to  find 
some  excuse  for  my  absence,  which  should 
not  in  the  least  affect  him,  as  not  wishing 
longer  to  engage  in  active  life.  I  scarcely 
knew  how  high  my  hopes  were  raised  until 
Pedro  came  again  and  they  were  blasted  by 
disappointment.  He  said  his  master  had 
considered  a  long  time  upon  my  proposition, 
but  at  last  said  he  would  do  nothing  about  it 
— my  fate  was  sealed,  and  I  had  better  be 
come  reconciled  to  what  could  not  be  avoid 
ed.  I  will  not  weary  you,  senor,  by  particu 
lars  of  my  sad  imprisonment. 

'  It  was  nearly  two  years  before  I  saw  Ze- 
novia  again,  but  he  was  then,  as  before,  deaf 
to  all  rny  entreaties  for  liberty.  He  told  me 
that  a  few  weeks  before  a  body  had  been 
found  concealed,  not  far  from  where  I  was 
kidnapped,  and  my  son  had  ordered  all  due 
honors  paid  to  the  corpse,  supposing  it  to  be 
myself — that  time  had  already  blunted  the 
edge  of  his  grief,  and  he  was  beginning  to 
mix  again  with  the  world.  He  said  too 
(which  stung  me  more  than  all  the  rest), 
that  my  son  had  affianced  his  only  daughter, 
the  namesake  and  living  image  of  my  sainted 
wife,  to  his  son. 

'  Fifteen  years  have  passed  away,  and  in 
that  time  I  trust  that  I  have  become  resigned 

o 

to  my  fate,  believing  that  when  this  mortal 
body  should  resign  its  breath,  my  Father 
would  take  me  to  be  with  him  in  paradise. 
Pedro  furnished  me  with  books  to  beguile 
the  weary  hours,  and  also  writing  materials, 
that  I  could  transfer  my  thoughts  to  paper. 


This  was  entirely  from  a  feeling  of  sympathy, 
as  Zenovia  would  never  allow  me  that  small 
consolation.  The  perusal  of  those  books  has 
enabled  me  to  live  on  and  endure,  and  has 
directed  me  to  the  God  of  mercy  for  comfort 
in  distress. 

'  For  two  years  past  my  food  has  been 
brought  to  me  by  Pedro  and  the  young  Zeno 
via,  alternately,  my  treacherous  friend  being 
dead.  Four  nights  since,  Zenovia  came  to 
me,  and  said  the  North  American  army  were 
at  the  gates  of  the  city,  and  might  very  soon 
enter  it.  If  they  did  he  could  stay  no  longer 
here,  and  of  course  could  not  attend  to  my 
wants.  He  left  me  food  and  light  for  one 
day,  and  a  dagger,  saying  when  I  felt  tired  of 
life,  I  was  at  liberty  to  use  that. 

'  Ah,  my  friend,  what  thoughts  of  horror 
took  possession  of  my  soul,  when  after  so 
many  years  confinement  I  was  at  last  left  to 
starve,  or  end  my  life  by  suicide.  So  you 
found  me,  and  blessings  the  most  precious 
will  rest  upon  you,  for  your  great  kindness. 
You  have  mentioned  Don  Carlos  de  Montal- 
do — you  must  have  conjectured,  from  my 
narration,  that  I  am  the  father  he  has  "so 
long  mourned.' 

'  Ah  yes,'  cried  Clifton,  whose  emotion  had 
been  almost  overpowering  as  he  listened  ; 
'  ah  yes  !  and  it  will  be  the  happiest  day  of 
my  life,  when  I  can  restore  to  him  one  so  re 
vered,  and  place  you,  my  dear  sir,  in  a  situa 
tion  of  comfort  and  happiness.' 

Arthur  then  unfolded  to  Don  Juan  the 
project  of  the  night,  and  asked  if  he  would 
be  willing  to  remain  there  till  the  next  morn 
ing,  when  he  would  return  with  means  to 
convey  him  away  in  safety. 

'  Do  not  hesitate  a  moment  for  me,'  cried 
the  old  gentleman  ;  '  hasten,  and  secure  the 
villains,  then  return  for  me.  I  am  not  strong 
enough  to  be  moved  to-night,  and  am  so  ac- 


SENORA  INES. 


customed  to  solitude  that  I  shall  not  fear  to 
be  alone.' 

Clifton  asked  if  he  had  writing  materials 
still  left,  and  being  directed  to  them,  he  sat 
down  and  wrote  a  brief  account  of  the  state 
of  the  invalid,  and  where  to  find  him,  then 
directed  it  to  Don  Carlos,  and  placed  it  in 
his  bosom.  It  was  now  growing  towards 
night,  as  he  found  by  going  above,  for  it  was 
all  night  below,  and  he  commenced  his  pre 
parations  for  going  back  into  the  city  again. 
Staining  his  skin  a  tawny  hue,  and  again  af 


fixing  his  black  moustache,  he  arranged  his 
clothes  so  that  Don  Juan  said  he  would  never 
be  recognized. 

The  old  man's  courage  faltered  when  he 
saw  his  preserver  about  to  leave  him,  but 
yet  would  not  consent  to  detain  him  a  mo 
ment.  '  I  have  perfect  confidence  in  you,' 
he  cried,  and  again  our  hero  received  his 
fervent  blessings.  He  left  the  door  open, 
and  the  remains  of  the  food  and  water  by  his 
side,  and  also  his  lamp,  which  he  supposed 
would  last  till  morning,  and  then  departed. 


CHAPTER  XIV, 


4  Now  seize  the  wretch,  and  bear  him  hence  ; 
Let  justice  do  her  work  upon  the  caitiff'.' 


WHEN  Henri  Duvalle  returned  home,  he 
found  all  the  family  had  retired  to  rest. 
Passing  through  a  long  corridor,  on  his  way 
to  his  own  sleeping  apartment,  he  heard  a 
door  softly  open,  and  looking  round  he  saw 
Ines  step  into  the  passage. 

'  Henri,'  she  said,  in  a  low,  soft  voice, 
scarcely  above  a  whisper.  He  turned  back 
instantly,  and  in  answer  to  her  inquiries,  re 
peated  what  he  had  done  for  and  with 
Clifton. 

'  Are  you  sure  he  will  be  safe  there  V  she 
asked  eagerly ;  '  there  are  strange  stories 
told  about  that  old  ruin :  and  did  you  not 
know  it  was  on  Zenovia's  estate.' 

'  Yes,  madam,  but  the  senor  has  too  much 
on  his  hands  at  present  to  think  of  pursuing 
Captain  Clifton,  if  he  even  discovers  that  he 
has  escaped.  He  has  a  new  project  in  his 
head,  which  will  be.  explained  to  you  to-mor 
row.'  He  bowed,  and  the  lady  disappeared 
into  her  room. 

The  next  morning,  Don  Carlos  was  inform 


ed  of  all  that  Henri  had  overheard,  and  of 
Clifton's  intended  visit  that  evening.  Don 
Carlos  listened  to  this  account  with  the  strong 
est  indignation.  He  sent  for  his  daughter  at 
once,  and  when  she  entered,  asked  some  in 
different  question  about  her  new  maid,  and 
then  inquired  if  she  had  made  a  request  that 
her  mistress  would  accompany  her  to  see  an 
old  friend. 

'  She  has  mentioned  it  several  times,'  re 
plied  Ines,  '  and  this  morning,  I  promised  to 
accompany  her  at  evening.' 

'  Yes,  perfectly  right,  my  love,'  now  if  you 
please,  go  and  find  out  the  precise  spot  where 
the  old  woman's  house  stands,  and  then  come 
and  tell  rne;  but  excite  no  suspicions  of  your 
object.  Speak  to  her  carelessly,  as  about  aa 
indifferent  subject.' 

'  But  may  I  not  know  my  father  '?' 

'  Not  at  present,'  he  interrupted  ;  '  after 
your  return  I  will  explain.' 

She  left  the  room,  and  Don  Carlos  selected 
the  required  number  of  servants,  furnished 


SENORA  INES. 


81 


them  with  arras,  and  obtained  a  promise  of 
perfect  secrecy  and  obedience  from  them. 
Ines  found  and  gave  her  father  the  descrip 
tion  he  wished,  and  in  return  he  explained 
his  motives  for  the  inquiry.  Ines  shuddered 
at  the  danger  she  was  so  near  falling  into, 
and  turned  to  Henri  with  a  bright  look  of 
gratitude. 

He  bowed,  ard  smiled  sadly. 
Running  up  to  him,  she  took  his  hand,  and 
said  iu  a  soft,  coixing  voice,  '  Now,  my  bro 
ther,  do  not  always  look  so  sad,  and  throw 
a  look  of  humility  into  your  brow.' 

'  Have  I  not  reason  ?'  said  Henri ;  '  of  what 
should  I  be  proud  f 

'  Well,  I  do  not  ask  you  to  be  proud  of 
your  sister,  but  still  I  claim  that  name,  and 
my  father  loves  you  as  a  son.  Do  you  not, 
ray  dear  sir  ?'  and  she  turned  an  appealing 
look  upon  him. 

He  smiled,  and  kissing  her,  said,  '  Yes,  my 
dear,  Henri  merits  our  warmest  regard,  and 
he  certainly  has  it.' 

Ines  now  tripped  up  to  her  chamber.  A 
thousand  ideas  flitted  through  her  mind.  She 
felt  a  heavy  weight  removed  from  her  heart, 
for  she  believed  all  fear  of  Zenovia  was  at  an 
end.  Coward  as  he  was,  she  could  not  think 
he  would  dare  approach  them  again,  when 
his  treachery  was  unmasked  ;  and  visions  of 
hope  and  happiness  filled  her  brain,  in  which 
the  presence  of  our  hero  was  indispensable  to 
complete  the  charm.  It  was  towards  even 
ing.  Ines  was  sitting  at  her  window,  listen 
ing  to  the  cannonading,  which,  during  the 
day,  had  been  still  advancing  nearer  to  the 
city,  and  noting  an  occasional  shell  as  it  en 
tered,  struck,  and  exploded.  Messengers 
rode  hastily  to  different  parts  of  the  city,  giv 
ing  accounts  of  the  taking  one  position  after 
another  by  the  besieging  army,  and  it  was 
the  general  opinion  that  it  could  not  hold  out 
another  day.  It  was  also  whispered  that 
Santa  Anna  intended  deserting  the  place, 
with  a  large  body  of  chosen  troops,  leaving 
them  to  the  mercy  of  the  enemy,  and  alarm 
and  confusion  reigned  throughout.  Senor 


De  Montaldo's  house  stood  outside  of  the  cen 
tre,  and  far  removed  from  the  scenes  of  com 
motion  going  on  without,  so  that  they  seemed 
to  enjoy  comparative  peace.  As  Ines  looked, 
she  saw  a  man  coming  up  the  street ;  he 
paused  several  times,  probably  to  listen  to  the 
roar  of  ordnance.  Just  opposite  her  window 
he  stopped,  and  seemed  making  some  inquiry 
of  a  person  he  met.  Why  did  her  heart  beat 
faster  as  she  gazed  on  him  ?  She  could  not 
tell  !  He  was  dressed  as  a  common  Mexi 
can  ;  his  low  top,  broad  brimmed  hat,  was 
drawn  over  his  face,  which  was  quite  dark, 
and  his  upper  lip  was  graced  with  a  jetty  or 
nament,  customary  with  those  of  her  country. 
But  there  was  something  in  his  movement, 
his  graceful  bow,  as  he  left  the  man  he  was 
speaking  with,  and  his  quick  glance  upward 
to  her  window,  as  he  rapidly  crossed  the 
street,  and  stood  a-waiting  admittance  at  her 
father's  door,  that  sent  a  thrill  through  her 
whole  frame.  Clasping  her  hands  tightly 
over  her  heart,  she  sat  tremblingly  awaiting 
what  would  follow.  But  when  half  an  hour 
passed,  and  everything  was  quiet  as  usual  about 
the  house,  sh*e  said  to  herself,  while  a  burning 
blush  mantled  her  cheek,  '  What  a  silly  being 
I  am,  looking  for  winders  in  every  slight 
event.  I  ought  to  know  that  it  would  risk 
his  life  to  come  here.  O,  God  grant,'  she 
added  energetically,  '  that  he  will  not  ven 
ture  out  where  I  fear  destruction  will  await 
him.' 

At  this  moment  a  light  step  approached, 
and  some  one  tapped  at  the  door.  She  flew 
to  open  it,  and  Henri  told  her  in  a  low  voice 
her  father  desired  to  see  her  in  the  library. 
She  followed  him  with  tottering  steps,  several 
times  opening  her  lips  to  ask  him  a  question, 
and  as  often  closing  them  with  a  sigh. 

Henri  left  her  at  the  door,  and  she  entered 
alone.  As  she  had  imagined  the  stranger 
was  there,  in  close  conversation  with  her  fa 
ther.  Don  Carlos  started  up  as  he  saw  her, 
and  saying,  '  I  can  give  you  but  a  short  half 
hour,  disappeared  from  the  room.  Ines  in 
amazement  was  just  turning  to  follow,  when 


SENORA  INES. 


a  low  voice  pronounced  her  name,  and  Clif 
ton,  casting  his  hat  to  the  floor,  and  taking 
the  moustache  from  his  Jip,  advanced  and 
clasped  her  in  his  arms.  '  Loveliest  and  best,' 
he  cried,  '  do  I  indeed  once  more  hold  you  to 
my  heart,  and  all  my  own  ?  No  fear  now  ol 
a  parent's  frown  on  our  love  ;  with  his  entire 
approbation  we  must  be  happy. ; 

Ines  hid  her  face  a  few  moments  on  hi 
shoulder,  then  raised  her  eyes  and  surveyed 
his  countenance. 

'  Does  my  dark  skin  terrify  you  ?'  he  asked 
with  a  smile.  '  I  think  I  may  pass  very  well 
in  the  character  1  have  assumed,  since  even 
you  did  not  at  first  recognize  me.' 

Ines  disengaging  herself  from  his  embrace, 
and  moving  to  a  seat,  began  to  question  him 
anxiously  about  the  danger  he  run  in  thus 
exposing  himself.  He  soon  quieted  her  ap 
prehensions,  and  then  they  conversed  of  the 
future,  which,  to  their  vivid  imagination,  was 
just  opening  for  them  in  perfect  happiness. 

But  they  were  not  long  allowed  this  plea 
sure.  Don  Carlos  entered  :  '  Come,  'Senor 
Clifton,'  he  cried,  '  Henri  has  already  depart 
ed  with  our  small  force,  and  we  had  better 
soon  follow  ;  but  first  we  will  secure  that 
faithless  girl,  who  so  nearly  drew  my  Ines 
into  such  peril.' 

Arthur  started  up,  and  resuming  his  dis 
guise,  said  to  Ines,  '  Dear  ladj,  if  you  have 
any  compission,  you  will  give  me  something 
to  eat  before  I  go,  for  I  assure  you  I  am  quite 
ravenous.' 

She  bounded  off  at  this  request,  and  our 
friends  took  measures  to  prevent  any  trouble 
from  Camelia,  by  placing  her  in  a  private 
room,  under  guard.  When  they  returned, 
Ines  had  prepared  a  light  meal  with  her  own 
hands,  not  wishing  to  attract  attention  by 
calling  upon  the  servants.  Clifton  really 
stood  in  need  of  food,  having  so  long  fasted, 
and  thanking  her  more  by  his  eyes  than  words, 
they  immediately  departed.  Ines  watched 
them  with  tearful  eyes,  till  they  disappeared 
in  the  distance,  and  then  went  to  her  room  to 
pray  for  their  safety. 


Don  Carlos  and  his  friend  walked  on  to 
the  rendezvous,  the  former  explaining  as  they 
went,  the  plan  of  operation.  As  they  came 
near  the  house  described  to  them,  they  part 
ed,  and  each  secured  a  position  where  they 
could  command  a  view  of  the  door.  It  might, 
perhaps,  have  been  an  hour,  though  to  Clif 
ton  it  seemed  an  age,  and  it  was  getting  so 
dark  that  he  could  not  distinguish  objects 
plainly,  the  moon  being  hid  by  heavy  clouds, 
when  the  roll  of  carriage  wheels  fell  upon  his 
ear.  The  sound  approached  nearer,  and 
paused  within  a  few  rods  of  him.  The  next 
moment  a  figure  descended  the  steps,  and 
speaking  a  few  words  in  a  low  tone  tcr  the 
driver,  he  peered  cautiously  around  for  a 
minute,  and  then  walked  swiftly  towards  the 
house.  It  was  too  dark  to  discern  features, 
but  from  the  enormous  size  of  the  man,  Clif 
ton  judged  it  must  be  him  they  sought.  Join 
ing  Don  Carlos,  they  summoned  two  of  the 
party  concealed  near,  and  together  advanced 
to  the  door.  Placing  his  ear  to  the  door, 
Clifton  heard  a  man's  voice  say,  '  But  what 
shall  I  do,  old  woman  ?  Senor  Zenovia  will 
be  furious,  when  I  meet  him  alone.  Is  there 
no  possibility  of  their  coming  yet?' 

'  O,  no  !'  answered  the  old  woman,  '  Don 
na  Ines  would  not  come  out  so  late.  I  am 
afraid  they  have  discovered  something  about 
it,  and  so  have  kept  her  at  home.' 

At  this  moment  making  a  sign  for  the  oth 
ers  to  follow,  Clifton  gently  raised  the  latch 
and  entered.  '  Secure  that  woman,'  he  said, 
in  an  authoritive  voice,  to  the  two  men.  She 
was  a  very  large  person,  and  exerted  her 
strength  to  the  utmost,  but  at  last  with  great 
difficulty  she  was  secured,  and  a  muffling 
placed  over  her  mouth. 

At  the  first  glimpse  of  his  enemies,  Pedro 
endeavored  to  rush  past  them  and  escape  at 
the  door,  but  failing  in  that,  he  drew  a  pis 
tol,  and  warned  them  to  keep  their  distance. 
Clifton,  with  one  bound,  was  at  his  side,  and 
dashing  up  the  weapon,  it  went  off,  but  with 
out  injuring  any  one.  Throwing  it  from 
him,  a  dagger  instantly  supplied  its  place. 


SENORA  INES. 


83 


By  a  sudden  motion  Clifton  caught  the  ruf 
fian's  arms,  and  endeavored  to  pin  them  to 
his  side;  but  he  was  powerful,  and  wrench 
ing  away,  he  inflicted  a  wound  in  Clifton's 
shoulder.  Moving  a  step  backward  and 
drawing  his  sword,  he  said,  gravely,  '  Pedro, 
you  fight  well  in  a  bad  cause.  We  have  no 
desire  to  injure  you  ;  it  is  your  master  we 
seek.  You  must  see  that  resistance  is  use 
less,'  pointing  to  his  companions.  '  You 
cannot  escape  us  ;  give  up  at  once,  and  life 
will  be  grained  you,  on  condition  of  guiding 
us  to  Zenovia  ;  but  otherwise  we  shall  be 
obliged  to  use  unpleasant  means  to  effect  our 
purpose.' 

The  old  man  looked  keenly  at  the  speaker 
for  a  moment,  then  suddenly  drawing  another 
pistol  from  his  bosom,  he  cried,  '  I  have  no 
faith  in  your  promises  ;'  and  pointing  at  his 
antagonist,  the  ball  missed  Clifton,  and  pass 
ing  through  the  garments  of  Montaldo,  slight 
ly  grazed  ins  shoulder,  and  entered  the  wall 
beyond.  Our  hero  saw  where  the  shaft  sped, 
and  rushed  forward,  the  whole  determination 
of  his  soul  darting  from  his  eye.  Pedro 
started  aside,  not  however  without  receiving 
a  severe  wound.  Darting  forward  within 
the  sweep  of  the  sword,  he  caught  Clifton  in 
his  muscular  arms,  and  endeavored  to  crush 
him  with  his  great  strength ;  but  he  found  he 
had  not  a  child  to  deal  with.  After  a  violent 
effort,  Arthur  succeeded  in  mastering  his 
hands,  and  with  almost  superhuman  strength, 
dashed  him  against  the  wall.  Panting  for 
breath,  the  giant  stood  erect  a  moment,  then 
passing  his  hand  upon  his  brow,  he  staggered 
forwird  and  fell  upon  the  point  of  Clitton's 
sword,  and  sunk  to  the  ground.  What  we 
have  attempted  to  describe,  had  *  scarcely 
been  the  work  of  a  minute.  The  two  men 
had  just  secured  the  old  dame,  and  turned  to 
assist  Clifton  as  Pedro  fell.  Cords  were 
passed  around  his  limbs,  and  the  blood 
staunched,  which  flowed  freely  from  the 
wound  in  the  breast.  He  made  no  resistance 
after  lie  fell,  but  to  all  their  questions  he 
maintained  a  suilen  silence.  Clifton  and 


Don  Carlos  consulted  a  few  moments  togeth" 
er,  and  then  giving  some  orders  to  the  two 
men  with  them,  they  disappeared  at  a  back 
door. 

Looking  around,  Don  Carlos  found  a  large 
cloak  hanging  near  the  door,  and  throwing 
it  over  Pedro,  he  with  Arthur  raided  him  on 
their  arms,  arid  bore  him  slowly  towards  the 
carriage.  The  night  was  so  dark  that  the 
driver  could  only  distinguish  several  figures 
moving  towards  him.  Straining  his  eyes 
through  the  gloom,  he  said,  '  Pedro,  are  you 
there?'  Clifton  assisted  Don  Carlos  into  the 
carriage  with  the  wounded  man,  and  then 
moving  towards  the  speaker,  said  in  a  gruff 
voice,  in  imitation  ot  the  old  man,  '  Ail  right ; 
1  have  them  safely  caged,  but  1  had  to  fight 
for  it.  Did  you  not  hear  the  report  of  the 
pistol  ?  It  frightened  her  a  litlle,  I  imagine. 
As  soon  as  1  get  into  the  carriage,  drive  on 
with  as  liitle  noise  as  possible,  to  the  place 
where  the  colonel  is  to  meet  us.' 

'  I  will,'  answered  the  man.  '  The  colonel 
will  think  we  have  done  a  good  niglu's  work, 
and  now  on  for  our  reward.' 

The  carriage  'now  moved  slowly  forward. 
The  road  seemed  endless,  and  Clifton  was 
beginning  to  think  the  driver  suspected  him, 
and  was  taking  the'm  in  quite  a  different  di 
rection  from  the  first  order.  At  last  they 
stopped,  and  a  voice  outside  asked,  '  What 
success  ?' 

'  Excellent,'  was  the  driver's  answer, 
'  they're  all  here.1 

'Then  I  will  bring  the  colonel,'  said  the 
first  voice. 

'Now  is  my  time,'  whispered  Clifton. 
'  You,  senor,  had  better  remain  here  and 
watch  this  rascal,  while  I  join  our  little  party, 
which  I  am  sure  must  be  very  near  us.' 

lie  opened  the  door  genily  and  stepped 
out.  The  moon  shed  a  dim  and  uncertain 
light  upon  the  scene;  he  saw  that  they  had 
left  the  buildings  behind  them,  and  he  judged 
from  appearances,  that  they  must  be  on  the 
outer  confines  of  the  city.  A  few  broken 
ruins  of  what  had  once  been  the  walls  of  a 


84 


SENORA  INES. 


house,  rose  upon  the  eye,  dark  and  ragged  in 
its  outlines,  and  an  occasional  tree  cast  a 
shade  over  the  ground.  His  eyes  roamed 
anxiously  in  search  of  his  men,  but  he  could 
see  nothing.  His  ear,  however,  took  a  slight 
sound  of  murmuring  voices,  in  the  direction 
of  the  ruined  wall.  Advancing  cautiously, 
he  muttered  one  word  in  a  voice  so  low  that 
only  a  careful  listener  could  have  heard  it; 
but  it  was  answered  in  the  same  tone,  and 
he  knew  his  small  but  resolute  band  were 
there. 

At  the  same  moment  he  saw  several  figures 
advancing  towards  the  carriage.  Giving  the 
word  to  his  eager  followers,  they  moved 
stealthily  along  in  the  same  direction.  Not 
expecting  an  assault,  they  started  back  in 
surprise,  as  the  little  party  rushed  upon  them, 
sword  in  hand.  Zenovia,  who  was  in  front, 
made  a  bound  to  reach  the  carriage,  but  the 
muzzle  of  a  pistol  met  his  breast,  and  he 
threw  himself  back  into  the  midst  of  his  men. 
The  moon  now  streamed  forth  with  its  full 
lustre,  revealing  each  party  to  the  other. 
Stepping  a  little  in  advance,  Clifton  said, 
1  Mexicans,  soldiers,  we  come  to  arrest  a 
criminal ;  we  seek  your  chief;  leave  him  in 
our  hands,  and  you  can  depart  in  peace  ;  re 
sist,  and  you  force  us  to  take  him  by  vio 
lence  !' 

The  men  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 
Zenovia,  fearing  that  they  would  indeed  leave 
him,  glanced  upon  them  to  discover  their 
feelings ;  waving  his  sword  he  exclaimed, 
'  Forward,  men  !  Who  talks  of  deserting  his 
chief?  On,  I  say,  they  are  but  a  handful !' 

Thus  encouraged,  the  attack  which  now 
commenced  was  repelled  with  firmness  for  a 
few  moments.  Zenovia,  while  surrounded 
by  his  men,  felt  very  brave  ;  but  when  he 
saw  them  falling  about  him,  a  deadly  panic 
seized  him,  and  he  turned  to  flee.  Clifton's 
eye  had  never  left  him  for  a  moment,  and  as 
he  noted  this  motion,  he  told  Henri,  who 
stood  by  his  side,  to  take  those  who  remained, 
prisoners,  if  possible  ;  but  not  allow  them  to 
escape,  as  they  could  easily  bring  an  over 


whelming  force  upon  them.  Then  with  the 
speed  of  the  wind,  he  followed  Zenovia.  The 
latter  turned,  and  seeing  but  one  person  near, 
for  one  moment  actually  thought  of  turning 
upon  his  opponent,  but  his  innate  want  of 
courage  forced  him  onward.  Fear  instead 
of  giving  him  speed  retarded  his  flight,  and 
Arthur  immediately  overtook  him.  Forced 
to  extremity,  Zenovia  now  turned  and  at 
tempted  a  desperate  thrust  at  our  hero's 
breast.  Parrying  it  with  another,  he  knock 
ed  the  sword  from  his  hand,  and  with  the 
strength  of  a  single  arm  stretched  him  upon 
the  ground. 

'  I  ask  my  life.  O,  have  mercy  !'  cried  the 
terrified  wretch,  raising  his  hands. 

Clifton  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  of 
such  scorn,  that  the  coward  shrank  away  to 
avoid  a  second.  At  this  moment  Henri  ap 
proached. 

'  Captain,'  he  said,  '  everything  is  accom 
plished.  We  have  taken  five  prisoners — the 
rest  lie  where  they  will  never  move  again.' 

'  Then  we  will  return  immediately,'  replied 
Clifton. 

They  bound  Zenovia's  hands,  and  secured 
his  mouth.  By  the  young  captain's  order, 
the  wounded  prisoners  were  placed  in  the 
carriage,  with  two  of  Don  Carlos's  party,  who 
were  severely  wounded  ;  the  rest  were  com 
pelled  to  walk ;  and  they  moved  silently,  but 
swiftly  as  possible,  towards  home. 

It  was  after  midnight  when  they  halted  at 
Senor  de  Montaldo's  door.  The  prisoners 
were  placed  in  separate  rooms,  with  a  guard 
over  them.  Don  Carlos's  family  physician 
was  called  in,  and  the  circumstances  being 
explained  to  him,  he  immediately  dressed 
their  wounds,  and  they  were  left  to  repose. 

Early  the  next  morning  the  United  States 
army  marched  into  the  city.  As  soon  as  it 
was  consistent,  Captain  Clifton  repaired  to 
meet  the  commander-in-chief.  He  was  re 
ceived  by  his  brother  officers  with  cordiality; 
and  his  own  particular  company  welcomed 
his  re-appearance  with  shouts  of  joy.  But 
Stanley — who  can  describe  bis  transports, 


SENORA  INES. 


85 


when  he  once  more  pressed  to  his  breast  the 
friend  he  loved  as  his  own  life,  and  of  whom 
he  had  not  been  able  to  obtain  the  slightest 
trace  since  his  disappearance.  Clifton  re 
quested  permission  to  take  a  portion  of  his 
company,  that  he  might  guard  from  danger 
those  friends  who  had  saved  his  life  ;  as  in  the 
present  state  of  the  town  there  was  much  to 
be  apprehended  from  the  uprising  of  the  peo 
ple.  In  consideration  of  his  services,  this 
was  granted.  He  left  twenty  of  his  men  at 
Senor  de  Montaldo's,  charging  them  to  keep 
strict  watch  over  Zenovia,  to  whom  he  now 
revealed  himself.  Zenovia  grew  black  from 
rage  and  mortification,  when  he  found  that  he 
had  been  foiled  at  every  point  by  his  rival, 
and  turning  away,  deigned  no  reply.  Arthur 
remained  but  a  few  moments,  and  then  depart 
ed  with  the  rest  of  his  company  for  the  ruins. 

Meanwhile,  Senor  de  Montaldo  was  sitting 
by  the  side  of  the  dying  Pedro.  The  sur 
geon  had  told  him  he  could  not  survive  the 
day,  and  Don  Carlos  was  urging  him  to  con 
fess  what  he  knew  of  his  father's  fate.  He 
had  heard  Henri's  account  of  the  conversa 
tion  between  Zenovia  and  his  servant,  and 
suspicions  before  aroused,  now  become  ago 
nizing.  He  begged  Pedro  to  relieve  his  anx- ' 
iety,  and  tell  him  if  his  father  had  indeed 
been  murdered.  He  promised  that  he  should 
be  released  and  enabled  to  leave  the  country, 
if  he  would  but  tell  the  truth.  For  a  long 
time  Pedro  continued  a  sullen  silence  ;  at  last 
he  turned  to  Montaldo — 

'  Will  you  promise,  senor,'  he  said,  '  that, 
should  I  recover,  I  shall  not  die  for  my  crimes? 
I  am  too  wicked  to  die.  I  would  live  to  re 
pent  and  make  some  reparation.' 

'  I  promise  you,  solemnly,  that  it  shall  be 
as  you  wish.' 

'  Senor,'  resumed  Pedro,  '  commanded  by 
my  superior,  I  have  injured  you  greatly. — 
Your  father  has  lived  in  close  confinement 
fifteen  year?.  Don  Jose  Zenovia  command 
ed  that  he  should  have  no  comforts,  but  mere 
ly  food,  to  sustain  life.  He  hated  the  old 
don,  because  he  was  his  rival,  and  so  put  him 
6 


out  of  the  way.  But,  senor,  your  father  will 
tell  you  that  I  provided  him  with  many  com 
forts  which  were  forbidden,  by  both  father 
and  son.' 

He  then  started,  as  if  a  sudden  and  painful 
recollection    crossed  his  mind.     He   covered 
j  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  exclaimed  : 

'  O,  senor,  why  did  you  wish  to  know  all 
this?  Why,  did  I  ever  tell  you,  now  that  it 
is  too  late  ?' 

Senor  de  Montaldo  had  listened  with  ago 
nizing  emotion  to  the  old  man's  words. 

'  What  do  you  mean  ?  Why  too  late  ?'  he 
cried  ;  '  surely,  you  will  tell  me  where  he  is?' 
and  he  clasped  the  hard  hand  of  the  other  in 
both  his,  while  his  eyes  were  fixed  with  im 
ploring  eagerness  upon  his  face.  The  old 
man  sobbed  : 

'  Alas  !  it  is  four  days,  since  he  has  had 
food.  The  cruel  Zenovia  wished  me  to  take 
his  life  ;  and  when  I  refused,  he  said  he  must 
starve,  as  he  was  going  to  leH-e  the  city,  and 
could  have  no  more  trouble  with  him  ;  and, 
blessed  Mary  forgive  me,  I  obeyed,  and  have 
not  seen  him  since.' 

Don  Carlos  sprang  to  his  feet — his  eyes 
glared  furiously  upon  the  man  before  him. 
He  seized  his  hand  with  a  gripe  that  made 
him  cry  out  with  pain. 

'  Tell  me,'  he  cried,  '  tell  me  quick  where 
you  have  put  him.  Tell  me,  I  say,  or  I  will — ' 

His  head  drooped  upon  his  breast. 

1  O  !'  he  added,  in  a  tone  of  the  most  ex 
quisite  misery  :  '  surely,  my  heart  will  break 
with  this  agony.' 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Clif 
ton  entered. 

'  My  friend,'  he  said,  approaching  Don 
Carlos,  '  prepare  your  mind  for  a  surprise ;  a 
happy  one,  I  think.' 

'  Happy !'  ejaculated  he.  '  O,  Clifton — he 
— my  father — 0,  horror !' 

Arthur  understood  at  once  what  he  had 
been  listening  to,  and  hastened  to  undeceive 
him.  Opening  the  door  by  which  he  had 
just  entered,  he  was  immediately  followed  in 
to  the  room  by  several  men,  bearing  on  a  mat- 


86 


SENORA  INES. 


tress  a  pale  and  emaciated  form.  They  laid 
it  down  at  Clifton's  feet,  who,  raising  the  aged 
man  tenderly  in  his  arms,  placed  him  upon  a 
couch.  Then  taking  his  friend's  hand,  he 
led  him  forward. 

'  He  is  not  dead,  my  dear  sir,'  he  exclaim 
ed.  '  God  in  his  mercy  haa  preserved  and 
restored  him  to  your  affection.' 

Don  Juan  raised  himself  upon  his  couch 
and  extended  his  arms,  while  his  son  clasped 
him  again  and  again  to  his  heart.  They  were 
both  overcome  with  emotion ;  and  Clifton 
motioned  his  men  to  leave  the  room,  while  he 
himself  retreated  to  the  bed-side  of  Pedro, 
who  was  groaning  inwardly. 

'  Now  I  shall  die  more  happy,'  he  murmur 
ed,  faintly.  After  a  pause,  he  continued  : 

'  There  is  another  thing  I  wish  to  confess, 
before  I  leave  the  world.' 

'  Confession  and  repentance,'  said  Clifton, 
turning  to  him,  '  will  even  at  the  eleventh 
hour  obtain  pardon.'  • 

*  I  hope  so,'  was  the  poor  man's  ejacula 
tion.  '  Where  is  Henri  ?'  turning  his  dim 
eyes  about  the  room.  '  J  have  something  to 
say  that  will  remove  from  him  the  imputation 
of  disgrace,  and  I  hope  will  enable  him  to 
return  to  home  and  family.' 

Clifton  started. 

'  Then  there  was  villany  in  the  manner  of 
his  removal  from  France  ?  Do  not  delay  to 
make  the  confession,  and  very  much  good 
may  arise  from  it.' 

At  this  moment  Don  Juan  called  Clifton 
to  his  side.  Placing  his  hand  in  that  of  his 
son,  he  said  : 

1  Carlos,  to  this  kind  being  I  am  indebted 
for  life — ior  preservation  from  the  cruel  death 
of  starvation.  O,  cherish  him  in  your  heart's 
care  ;  he  is  worthy  of  far  more  than  you  can 
bestow.' 


'  He  has  ever 


.          , 
been  the 


preserver 


of  me 


and  mine,'  cried  Don  Carlos  ;  '  from  the  first 
day  he  ever  saw  one  of  my  family,  he  has 
not  ceased  to  confer  benefits  upon  us.' 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  turning  tolnes, 
who  had  entered  the  room  unperceived,  he 
placed  her  hand  in  that  of  our  hero. 

'  Take  her,'  he  exclaimed  ;  '  she  is  yours, 
with  the  free  and  full  consent  of  her  father  ; 
and  believe  me,  I  have  suffered  much,  when 
forced  to  treat  you  with  coldness,  for  even 
one  moment.' 

Arthur  encircled  Tnes's  waist  with  his  arm, 
and  both  kneeling  at  Don  Carlos's  feet,  be 
sought  his  paternal  blessing.  He  gave  it  with 
tears,  and  eyes  raised  to  heaven. 

'  Ah  !'  cried  the  happy  lover,  '  this  one 
moment  is  full  compensation  for  all  my  suffer 
ings,  since  it  assures  me  that  our  love  is  fully 
sanctioned.' 

Rising,  he  led  his  affianced  bride  to  Don 
Juan. 

'  My  love,'  he  said,  '  look  upon  your  rever 
ed  grandfather,  who  for  fifteen  years  has  been 
closely  confined  under  the  orders  of  the  Se- 
nor  Zenovia,  and  tell  me  if  we  have  not  rea 
son  to  be  thankful,  that  we  have  escaped  be 
ing  the  victims  to  the  equal  villany  of  his  son?' 

Ines  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  be 
wilderment,  then  casting  herself  upon  her 
knees,  clasped  the  thin  hand  of  the  old  man, 
exclaiming  : 

'  Ah  !  is  it — can  it  be  possible?' 

Don  Juan  drew  her  towards  him,  and  plac 
ing  both  hands  on  her  head,  his  lips  moved  in 
blessing,  though  no  sound  issued  from  them. 
Fear  of  overtasking  the  old  man's  strength, 
soon  caused  the  friends  to  leave  his  bed-side, 
and  he  sunk  into  a  quiet  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


Thus  ambition  grasps 

The  empire  of  the  soul ;  thus  pale  ftevenge 
Unsheathes  her  murderous  dagger. — AKE>-SIDE. 


A  FEW  hours  after,  Don  Carlos,  Clifton  and 
Henri  were  sitting  by  Pedro's  bed-side.  He 
had  fallen  into  a  kind  of  stupor,  which  lasted 
several  hours ;  and  upon  rousing  from  that, 
he  felt  that  he  was  fast  failing,  and  called  the 
friends  to  listen  to  his  last  confession.  Turn 
ing  to  Henri,  he  said,  in  a  feeble  voice  : 

'  I  have  been  the  unwilling  instrument  of 
inflicting  the  deepest  wrong  upon  you.  You 
hare  supposed  yourself  the  child  of  a  man 
who,  even  in  your  menial  situation,  was  a  dis 
grace  to  you  ;  but  it  is  not  so.  Your  father 
was  a  gentleman  of  high  birth,  and  heir  to 
extensive  wealth.  You  were  stolen  from  him 
when  too  young  to  remember  your  parents, 
by  Senor  Zenovia.' 

The  gentlemen  started  in  surprise. 

'  Stolen  by  Zenovia  ?'  cried  Don  Carlos. 
'  Is  it  possible  ?  But  why  should  I  doubt  it? 
From  late  disclosures,  it  is  proved  that  his 
life  has  been  passed  in  acts  of  villany.  My  dear 
Henri,  I  congratulate  you.' 

'  Thank  you,  dear  senor  ;  but  let  us  listen 


to  Pedro,  while  he  is  able  to  speak.     O,  Pe 
dro,  tell  me  quick — do  not  delay.1 

The  old  man  sighed  deeply. 

'  Many  years  ago,'  he  commenced,  '  I  ac 
companied  Senor  de  Zenovia  (who  was  then 
a  widower)  abroad,  as  his  servant.  In  France 
he  fell  violently  in  love  with  a  young  lady, 
who  was  engaged  to  a  young  Frenchman. 
My  master  was  madly  in  love  with  her  ;  and 
when  she  refused  him,  and  married  the  French 
gentleman,  he  raged  for  a  while  like  a  mani 
ac  ;  vowing  vengeance  upon  them  both.  At 
last,  however,  he  came  home  here,  leaving  a 
man,  whom  he  paid  heavily,  to  give  him  eve 
ry  information  relative  to  the  objects  of  hia 
hatred. 

' '  Some  four  years  after  this,  he  visited 
France  again,  and  found  that  the  young  gen 
tleman  had  just  left  home  for  India,  to  receive 
a  large  fortune,  which  was  left  to  him  there. 
The  news  soon  came  that  the  vessel  in  which 
he  sailed  was  lost,  and  my  master  carried  the 
intelligence  to  his  wife.  She  was  sick  for  a 


88 


SENORA  INES. 


long  time  after  it,  but  at  last  recovered.     Se-  • 
nor  Zenovia  was  at  her   house  a  great  deal, , 
and  pretended  to  be  very  friendly.     He  had  j 
found  by  some  means  that  the  lady's  husband  ' 
was  not  dead,  and  he  intercepted  several  let 
ters  from  him ;  but  he  continued  to  talk  to 
the  lady  of  his  death. 

'  After  some  months  passed  away,  Senor 
Zenovia  asked  the  lady  to  marry  him,  and 
come  over  to  America ;  but  she  would  not 
consent,  and  said  something  that  made  him 
furious.  He  gave  her  the  letters  from  her 
husband,  but  told  her  he  would  have  revenge. 
He  gave  the  husband  of  the  child's  nurse  a 
heavy  sum  to  let  him  take  the  child  ;  and  in 
the  absence  of  his  honest  nurse,  1  took  the 
boy,  and  brought  him  to  Senor  Zenovia,  who 
brought  him  away  with  him,  and  kept  him  in 
his  own  house  for  several  years.  He  was  the 
perfect  image  of  his  father,  and  my  master 
hated  him  and  treated  him  very  harshly.  At 
last  he  gave  him  to  Senor  de  Montaldo,  to 
bring  up  as  one  of  his  lowest  servants,  mak- 
in<r  up  a  falsehood  to  account  for  his  having 
the  boy. 

'  My  master  was  always  angry  because  he 
was  well  treated  here;  but  he  had  given  him 
away  and  could  not  prevent  it.  He  told 
me  to  change  his  name,  but  the  poor  child 
would  answer  to  nothing  but  Henri,  and  I  told 
my  master  I  would  never  force  another  name 
upon  him.  Believe  me,'  he  said,  turning  to 
Henri,  '  I  have  been  miserable,  when  I  have 
thought  of  how  much  I  had  done  to  injure 
you,'  and  he  paused. 

'  But  the  name,'  cried  Henri ;  '  my  father's 
name — is  it  the  same  that  I  bear  ?' 

'  No,'  replied  the  old  man  ;  '  your  father 
was  Compte  de  Morinval,  and  your  grand 
father  Marquis  de  la  Croisy,  of  Kouen.' 
..  Henri  bowed  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and 
for  a  long  time  remained  silent ;  at  last  he 
took  the  hand  of  Don  Carlos,  exclaiming  : 

'  O,  my  dear  senor,  you  have  been  a  father 
to  me  indeed,  rather  than  a  master,  who 
might  have  claimed  the  most  rigorous  servi 
tude;  and  if  I  ever  find  my  parents  (which  I 


fear  is  scarcely  probable),  they  will  bless  you 
for  your  attention  to  their  child.' 

Pedro   looked    at   him  wistfully;    several 
times  he   attempted  to  speak,  and  at  last  he 
aid  : 

'  Will  you  not  forgive  me?  I  am  dying, 
and  would  wish  to  die  in  peace.' 

Henry  extended  his  hand — 

'  Yes,  I  forgive  you,'  he  said,  '  and  if  you 
sincerely  repent,  may  God  also  pardon  you, 
even  at  the  hour  of  death.' 

The  friends  now  separated.  Clifton  joined 
his  command,  and  Don  Carlos  visited  Zeno 
via.  As  he  entered,  the  latter  turned  away 
coloring  with  shame  and  rage.  Don  Carlos 
advanced  to  his  side,  and  addressed  him, 
calmly : 

'  Senor  Zenovia,'  he  said,  '  you  of  course 
have  relinquished  all  idea  of  obtaining  the 
hand  of  my  daughter.  I  could  never  receive 
for  a  son  a  man  guilty  of  such  crimes  as  you 
have  committed ;  even  if  the  base  attempt 
upon  herself  had  not  forever  rendered  that 
impossible.  Pedro  is  about  dying,  and  has 
confessed  the  numerous  atrocities  which  to 
gether  you  have  perpetrated.  The  history  of 
Henri  Duvalle  has  been  repeated.  My  poor 
father  has  been  found,  and  released  from  a 
loathsome  dungeon,  when  left  by  you  to  per 
ish  by  a  lingering  death.  He  has  been  saved 
by  Captain  Clifton,  the  affianced  husband  of 
Ines,  that  noble  being  whom  you  plotted  to 
murder  in  his  prison. 

'  I  have  already  sent  to  the  authorities  an 
account  of  your  conduct,  and  very  soon  you 
will  be  summoned  to  accompany  them  where 
due  justice  will  be  meted  out  to  you.  I  for 
bear  reproach,  Senor  Zenovia.  I  think  your 
conscience  will  reprove  you  sufficiently.  God 
has  in  his  justice  brought  your  iniquity  to 
light,  and  saved  the  innocent  from  perishing 
through  your  villany,  and  I  am  thankful.' 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  Don  Carlos  turned 
and  left  the  room,  with  a  charge  to  the  guard 
to  look  well  to  their  prisoner. 

Rage,  hatred,  fear — the  idea  of  an  igno- 
jminious  death,  which  he  could  not  escape, 


SENORA  INKS. 


rendered  Zenovia  almost  beside  himself. — 
Half  delirious  with  so  many  mingled  emo 
tions,  he  sat,  his  hands  clenched,  and  his 
eyes  rolling  with  horror  for  a  moment ;  then 
suddenly  starting  up,  he  bounded  to  the  side 
of  one  of  his  gu  rd,  and  before  he  was  aware 
of  his  intention,  snatched  a  dagger  from  his 
belt  and  plunged  it  into  his  own  bosom.  His 
momentary  delirium  gave  him  the  courage 
that  otherwise  he  could  not  have  summoned. 
A  wild  commotion  within  the  room  reached 
the  ear  of  Don  Carlos  before  he  had  advanc 
ed  many  paces,  and  he  stepped  back.  There 
lay  Zenovia,  weltering  in  a  pool  of  blood 
drawn  from  his  own  heart.  His  eyes  rolled 
wildly  in  his  head  for  a  moment;  a  convul 
sive  shudder  ran  through  his  frame,  and  his 
guilty  soul  fled,  uncalled  for,  to  the  presence 
of  his  Creator. 

Don  Carlos  knelt  and  prayed  fervently  for 
the  pardon  of  the  soul  just  departed  its  earth 
ly  tenement.  The  American  guard  did  not, 
of  course,  believe  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer 
for  the  dead,  but  struck  with  awe,  they  look 
ed  on  in  silence.  A  few  moments  after,  the 
government  officers  entered  the  room  for  their 
prisoner.  The  circumstances  were  explained, 
and  Zenovia  was  by  them  removed  for  inter 
ment.  The  five  prisoners  taken  with  him 
were  placed  in  their  charge,  and  they  depart 
ed.  Pedro  died  before  night — a  Catholic 
padre  was  with  him — gave  hirn  absolution  ; 
and  he  died  in  peace. 

The  events  of  the  last  two  or  three  days 
cast  a  gloom  over  the  house  for  a  time  ;  but 
soon  things  resumed  their  usual  course.  Clif 
ton  spent  most  of  his  time  at  Senor  de  Mon- 
taldo's.  He  was  happy  now,  and  he  saw  the 
same  sentiment  in  the  bright  eyes  of  his  sweet 
Ines. 

Stanley  called  often,  and  his  affectionate 
heart  truly  sympathized  in  his  friend's  felici 
ty.  The  commander-in-chief  placed  officers 
over  the  city,  and  made  every  arrangement 
for  the  security  of  his  army  with  his  usual 
prudence  and  foresight.  Soon  after  the  city 
came  into  their  possession,  letters  arrived 


from  the  States  to  our  friends.  Clifton  re 
ceived  one  from  his  mother,  in  which  she 
said  her  health  was  very  poor,  and  urged  him, 
if  it  was  consistent,  to  leave  the  army  and 
come  home  to  her.  She  described  her  lone 
ly  hours  in  his  absence,  and  trusted  his  affec 
tion,  as  well  as  his  duty,  would  lead  him 
home.  He  also  received  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Hereford,  containing  a  sketch  of  what  Mon 
sieur  Dupage  had  related  to  him,  and  ended 
thus : 

'  From  your  description  of  the  young  Henri 
mentioned  in  your  letter,  I  must  hope  that  he 
is  indeed  the  lost  son  of  my  dear  friend;  but 
I  dare  not  impart  my  suspicions  to  him,  as  I 
would  not  wish  to  raise  false  hopes.  You 
will  probably  soon  return — at  least  I  hope  so; 
and  can  you  not  bring  Henri  with  you?  I 
am  impatient  to  see  the  father  and  son  united. 
Alphonso  is  with  us ;  at  least,  what  time  he 
can  spare  from  his  visits  at  your  mother's.' 

Arthur  read  this  last  sentence  with  a  smile. 

'  Ah,'  thought  he,  '  has  my  lovely  Helen, 
then,  brought  the  gay  Montaldo  to  her  feet? 
That  is  pleasant  news,  if  true.' 

Don  Carlos  now  entered,  and  advancing, 
said  : 

'  Well,  Clifton,  I  have  a  letter  here  from 
Alphonso.  He  has  been  falling  in  love  with 
one  of  your  mother's  ladies,  and  here  asks 
my  consent  to  his  union.  Read  this,  and  tell 
me  if  I  had  better  grant  his  wishes.' 

Arthur  perused,  and  returned  the  letter 
with  a  bright  smile. 

'  My  cousin  Helen,'  he  answered,  '  is  very 
dear  to  me.  I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  giving 
her  up,  and  I  know  of  no  one  but  your  son 
on  whom  I  would  bestow  her.' 

'  I  certainly  have  no  reason  to  dispute  her 
worth,'  said  Don  Carlos,  laughing,  'judging 
by  what  I  know  of  one  nearly  related  to  her. 
My  happiness  lies  in  that  of  my  children,  and 
1  shall  not  oppose  my  son  in  what  I  am  con 
vinced  will  increase  his  happiness.' 

Arthur  now  communicated  the  contents  of 
his  letters,  and  saying  he  should  resign  his 
commission  immediately,  gained  permissicn 


SENORA  INES. 


from  Don  Carlos  to  make  Ines  the  compan 
ion  of  his  journey  home.  After  a  short  si 
lence,  Don  Carlos  said  : 

'  My  friend,  in  giving  you  my  daughter, 
I  give  you  a  treasure  in  herself,  but  her  for 
tune,  I  regret  to  say,  is  very  trifling.  I  have 
lost  much,  very  much,  during  the  prosecution 
of  this  war,  so  that  I  am  nearly  robbed  of  re 
sources;  but  if  I  have  read  your  heart  aright, 
that  will  not  change  your  sentiments  towards 
Ines.' 

'  You  have  indeed  read  it  aright,'  replied 
Clifton.  '  My  fortune  is  sufficient  to  sur 
round  us  with  every  luxury,  and  her  dear,  love 
ly  self  is  all  I  desire ;  believe  me,  my  friend, 
I  do  not  in  the  least  regret  it ;'  and  his  eyes 
sparkling  with  pleasure  evinced  his  truth. 

Clifton  immediately  sent  letters  to  the 
States,  informing  his  friends  of  the  events 
which  had  taken  place  in  Mexico.  He  re 
quested  Mr.  Hereford  to  meet  him  at  Vera 
Cruz,  with  a  clergyman  from  New  Orleans, 
to  unite  him  forever  to  the  beloved  of  his 
heart.  He  wrote,  also,  of  the  disclosures  in 
regard  to  Henri,  and  requested  him  to  bring 
Monsieur  Dupage  to  Vera  Cruz,  but  without 
telling  him  the  reality,  as  he  wished  to  see  if 
there  was  any  natural  sympathy  between  the 
father  and  son,  which  would  lead  them  in 
stinctively  to  each  other.  Ines  also  wrote  at 
the  same  time  to  Alice  Hereford. 

The  commander-in-chief  accepted  the  re 
signation  of  Clifton ;  and  Stanley  and  they 
were  very  busy  in  making  arrangements  for 
their  journey  home.  The  last  of  October  a 
train  was  to  start  for  Vera  Cruz,  and  our 
friends  were  to  travel  under  protection  of  its 
escort. 

Don  Juan  de  Montaldo  had  recovered  his 
strength  and  a  degree  of  health ;  he  was  se 
rene  and  happy  in  the  society  of  his  recover 
ed  friends,  who  watched  over  him  with  the 
tenderest  care.  About  a  week  before  the 
time  appointed  to  leave  Mexico,  Stanley  re 
ceived  a  letter  by  the  English  courier,  which 
caused  ftim  much  agitation.  Rushing  to  his 
friend,  he  said  : 


'  Here,  my  friend,  have  I  not  reason  to  be 
thankful?  Read  this.' 

It  was  from  the  attorney,  whose  absence  he 
had  lamented,  on  his  return  from  Europe. 
We  will  give  some  extracts  of  the  letter,  as 
the  easiest  way  to  inform  our  readers  of  the 
facts  relating  to  Stanley's  loss  of  fortune.  He 
commenced  : 

'  At  last,  my  friend  Edward,  I  have  found 
a  trace  of  you.  I  have  searched  the  old 
world,  and  at  least  a  part  of  the  new,  and 
have  just  succeeded  in  tracing  you  with  the 
besieging  army  in  Mexico.  As  soon  as  this 
reaches  you,  if  it  is  possible,  return  home. 
I  say  home,  my  friend,  for  you  are  NOT  the 
friendless,  isolated  being  you  doubtless  imag 
ine  yourself;  but  to  explain. 

'  When  you  left  home  for  Europe,  you 
know  your  father,  Mr.  Melmoth,  had  married 
a  woman  who  excited  your  dislike  so  much 
that  you  expressed  it  to  me.  She'  has  proved 
far  worse  than  you  could  imagine.  About  a 
year  before  the  death  of  Mr.  Melmoth,  I  per 
ceived  that  he  began  to  grow  melancholy,  and 
sometimes  presumed  upon  my  long  friendship 
to  question  him  as  to  its  cause  ;  but  he  would 
always  wave  the  subject.  At  last  I  found  a 
clue  to  his  sadness.  Reports  began  to  circu 
late  that  his  wife  was  more  intimate  with  her 
brother  than  their  relationship  warranted  ;  and 
it  was  even  whispered  that  he  was  not  a  broth 
er,  but  a  LOVER,  who  shared  more  of  her  af 
fection  than  was  compatible  with  her  duty  to 
her  husband.  Then  I  did  not«  wonder  at  my 
friend's  sadness  ;  on'y  thinking  strange  that 
he  did  not  cast  them  both  off  at  once. 

'  Some  three  weeks  previous  to  his  death  I 
called  upon  him,  but  was  told  by  his  servant 
that  he  would  receive  no  company.  I  told 
him  to  take  in  my  name,  and  I  knew  he  would 
admit  his  old  friend.  He  pretended  to  obey 
my  orders,  end  returning,  said  his  master 
wished  to  be  excused  to-day.  I  went  home 
surprised  and  very  much  grieved. 

'  A  week  passed  by,  and  I  heard  many  of 
his  old  friends  complain  of  the  same  treatment; 
and  to  some  of  them  the  servants  intimated 


SENORA   INES. 


91 


that  their  master  l.ad  been  drinking  deeply, 
and  did  not  like  to  be  seen.  At  the  close  of  a 
week,  I  again  went  to  his  home  and  solicited 
admiss:on.  This  time  his  wife  met  me,  and 
in  answer  to  my  request,  said  her  husband 
was  not  in  a  state  to  see  company.  I  imme 
diately  demanded  the  reason.  She  said  in  a 
low  voice,  affecting  to  be  very  much  mortified, 
that  he  had  become  a  perfect  inebriate — that 
he  was  almost  constantly  in  a  state  so  degrad 
ing,  that  she  could  not  think  of  admitting  any 
one  to  his  room.  In  vain  I  urged.  She  was 
obstinate  ;  and  I  was  forced  to  return  home, 
chagrined  at  my  want  of  success.  But  I 
could  not  be  contented.  I  did  not — I  could 
not  believe  what  she  said,  for  I  had  always 
thought  him  too  high-minded  to  stoop  so  low, 
and  I  determined  to  try  again.  Proceeding 
there  quite  early  one  morning,  while  they 
were  breakfasting — I  did  not  ring  at  the 
door,  but  opened  it,  and  made  my  way  alone 
to  my  friend's  room,  fortunately  without 
meeting  any  person.  Mr.  Melmoth  was  in 
bed,  pale  and  emaciated.  He  attempted  to 
rise,  but  could  scarcely  support  himself.  As 
I  entered,  he  held  out  his  hand  and  looked 
eagerly  at  me — 

'  "  O,"  he  cried,  "  how  did  you  pass  my 
jailors?  But  turn  the  key  in  the  lock  before 
you  answer  me." 

'  I  obeyed  him ;  and  taking  a  seat  by  his 
side,  told  him  how  I  had  been  refused  admit 
tance,  and  at  last  found  my  way  there  entire 
ly  alone. 

'  "  And  doubtless  you  have  heard,  too,  that 
I  was  intoxicated,  and  received  no  company, 
have  you  not  ?" 

4 1  bowed  without  reply. 

'  "  But  you  did  not  believe  it?"  he  cried, 
lookingly  earnestly  in  my  face.  "  Ah,  no  !  ] 
know  you  did  not." 

'  I  assured  him  that  I  knew  him  too  well 
for  that.  He  pressed  my  hand,  and  after  a 
pause  of  a  moment,  he  said  : 

'  "  1  am  glad  you  have  come.  I  feel  that  I 
am  dying,  and  wish  tr  tell  you  something  con 
cerning  my  family.  Take  a  pencil  and  note 


it  down.  My  friend,"  he  continued,  glanc 
ing  around  the  room,  "  they  are  killing  me — 
my  wife  and  her  pretended  brother.  I  have 
no  proof,  but  I  believe  it ;  I  am  taking  slow 
poison." 

'Then  why  do  you  stay  here?  Why  not 
at  once  denounce  them  to  justice  ?  interrupt 
ing  him. 

'  "  Surely,"  he  replied,  "  am  I  not  kept  a 
close  prisoner — all  my  friends  denied  admis 
sion  to  my  presence  ?  and  now  it  is  too  late  ! 
I  am  dying.  But  listen  to  me  :  they  are  do 
ing  this  for  my  property;  they  wish  to  secure 
ALL  to  themselves,  and  will  not  stop  here. 
My  children,  I  fear,  will  fall  a  sacrifice  to 
their  cupidity.  O,  to  you  I  look  to  warn  and 
protect  them. 

'  "  While  a  widower,  you  drew  up  for  me 
a  will  in  favor  of  my  three  children.  It  has 
been  recorded,  and  cannot  be  disputed.  It 
is  there,"  pointing  to  a  cabinet;  "  touch  that 
secret  spring:  now  place  the  will  in  your 
bosom.  My  wife  has  urged  me  for  a  long 
lime  to  make  one  in  her  favor,  and  has  even 
threatened  that  I  will  be  forced  to  do  it ;  but 
remember  what  I  say  to  you,  that  is  my  will, 
and  I  shall  never  make  another. 

'  "  That  brother,  or  rather  paramour,  of  my 
wife,"  he  cried,  bitterly,  "  I  have  forbidden 
the  house,  but  she  still  acts  under  his  direc 
tion.  Now,  my  friend,  you  must  go,  or  they 
will  surprise  you  here.  Do  not  forget  my 
children.  If  you  choose,  return  to-night  with 
authority  to  open  this  house,  and  take  me 
hence.  I  have  little  anxiety  about  it  myself." 

'  He  pressed  my  hand,  and  softly  unlock 
ing  the  door,  I  went  out. 

'  As  I  closed  the  hall  door  and  walked  rap 
idly  down  the  street,  I  saw  one  of  the  ser 
vants  looking  after  me,  and  knew  that  I  was 
discovered.  I  returned  at  night,  as  I  had 
promised,  but  Mr.  Melmoth  was  dead.  There 
was  no  proof  of  foul  play,  and  so  the  guilty 
ones  escaped.  I  resolved  to  wait  and  see 
what  course  the  widow  would  pursue,  before 
I  made  known  the  affair  of  the  will. 

'  At  this  time  I  was  taken  violently  ill,  and 


SENORA  INES. 


it  was  two  weeks  before  I  was  able  to  go  out 
Then  I  found  that  your  brother,  Francis,  had 
returned  home  a  week  before,  and  was  no\\ 
an  inmate  of  that  house  of  mystery.  I  has 
tened  there,  and  \vas  told  he  was  not  at  home 
The  next  morning  I  called  again,  and  was  re 
ceived  by  your  father's  widow.  She  told  me 
very  politely  that  her  son  was  very  sick,  hav 
ing  been  taken  in  a  fit  the  night  previous,  but 
she  would  conduct  me  to  him. 

'  Her  frank,  open  manner  staggered  my 
opinion  of  her  guilt  for  a  moment.  Your 
brother  lay  upon  his  couch,  insensible.  A 
respectable  physician  of  the  city  sat  by  his 
side.  1  asked  his  opinion  of  his  patient.  He 
shook  his  head — said  he  feared  he  would 
never  be  any  better,  but  he  would  do  all  in 
his  power  for  him.  The  doctor  left  with  me. 
I  asked  him  if  he  had  any  suspicions  that 
our  yo'ing  friend  came  to  his  illness  by  un 
fair  means. 

' "  O,  I  think  not,"  was  his  answer;  "I 
have  discovered  nothing  of  the  kind." 

'  Still  I  was  not  satisfied,  and  determined 
to  visit  him,  unknown  to  the  family.  This  I 
accomplished  the  next  evening.  Francis 
was  perfectly  sensible,  but  a  mere  shadow  of 
what  he  had  been.  He  seemed  exceedingly 
glad  to  see  me. 

'  What,  my  poor  boy,'  I  cried,  '  what  has 
brought  you  to  this?' 

'  He  sighed  deeply. 

'  "  My  health  has  not  been  very  good  for 
some  time  past,"  he  answered,  "  and  when  I 
returned  home,  and  found  that  my  father  was 
dead,  and  his  wife  told  me  such  dreadful  sto 
ries  of  his  late  conduct,  I  could  not  believe 
them,  certainly ;  but  my  bereavement  was 
sudden,  and  I  sunk  under  the  shock.  I  was 
placed  upon  a  couch,  and  have  not  since  left 
it.  You  know,  of  course,"  turning  to  me, 
"  that  my  father  has  made  a  will  entirely  in 
favor  of  his  wife.  I  have  heard  it  read,  and 
cannot  dispute  it,  though  it  seems  cruel." 

'  Your  father  never  made  that  will,'  I  re 
plied.  I  then  repeated  my  conversation  with 
Mr.  Mel  moth. 


'  "  O,  this  is  horrible  !"  he  cried,  wringing 
his  hands  in  agony,  "  and  I  too  am  probably 
their  victim.  Last  night  I  heard  my  father's 
wife  speaking  in  low  tones  to  the  man  she 
has  so  long  called  her  brother,  but  who  is 
now  her  husband.  They  thought  me  insen 
sible,  but  I  was  listening.  I  heard  her  say, 
"  We  will  soon  have  Francis  with  his  father 
and  sister,  and  then  everything  will  be  ours  ; 
by  this  I  think  they  are  helping  me  out  of 
the  world." 

'  After  a  moment's  pause  to  take  breath,  he 
continued  :  "  My  friend,  sit  down  and  listen 
to  me  for  a  few  moments.  I  have  been  ab 
sent  several  years  at  college,  and  know  but 
little  of  what  passed  at  home.  Some  three 
weeks  since,  I  received  a  visit  from  her 
brother."  He  lowered  his  voice.  "  He 
brought  me  a  letter  from  my  father,  in  which 
he  wrote,  that  my  brother  Edward  was  dead  ; 
and  he  requested  me,  as  I  valued  his  bless 
ing,  to  go  to  the  bank  and  draw  my  brother's 
patrimony  in  his  name,  and  come  home  to 
him,  as  he  was  very  feeble.  He  enjoined  it 
upon  me  repeatedly  to  fulfil  his  wishes.  I 
was  surprised — for  it  seemed  a  strange  pro 
ceeding — but  as  my  brother  was  dead,  and 
my  father  commanded,  I  obeyed.  When  I 
returned  home,  I  found  my  father  had  died 
before  the  letter  was  written — and  when  I 
charged  his  wife  with  it  she  looked  too  guilty 
to  remove  my  suspicions." 

'  You  are  right,'  I  interrupted,  '  your  fath 
er  never  wrote  to  you  in  that  way,  he  was  too 
upright — besides,  your  brother  is  not  dead. 
Here  is  a  letter  1  received  from  him  but  yes 
terday;  he  is  well,  but  anxious  about  his 
friends  at  home,  as  he  has  not  heard  from 
you  in  many  months.' 

Francis  clasped  his  hands.  "  O,  indeed 
that  is  happy  tidings,"  he  cried.  "  There, 
quick,  quick,  my  friend,  in  the  secret  dra\v- 
r  in  yonder  cabinet,  you  will  find  what  I 
drew  from  security.  It  is  all  safe  !  Take 
t,  conceal  it  about  you — and  when  Edward 
;omes,  give  him  the  amount,  and  ask  him  to 


SENORA  INES. 


in  high  style  in  Mr.  Melmoth's  house.  I 
learned  ujion  inquiry,  that  he  had  formerly 
kept  one  of  the  lowest  gambling  houses  in 
the  city.  I  called  upon  Mrs.  Windsor,  and 
requested  her  to  vacate  the  house,  and  also 
relinquish  all  right  to  any  part  of  Mr.  Mel- 
moth's  property,  as  his  will  was  made  entirely 
in  favor  of  his  children.  She  answered  with 
the  utmost  effrontery,  that  by  her  husband's 
last  will,  executed  three  days  before  his  death, 
he  had  given  her  all  he  possessed.  I  called 
for  the  will  and  found  it  in  due  form,  as  she 
had  said.  Taking  the  "names  of  the  attorney 
and  witnesses,  I  after  much  trouble  ferreted 
them  out.  The  two  witnesses  I  found  at  last, 
in  one  of  the  hells 
disgraced.  They 

class  of  human  beings.  It  was  some  time 
before  we  could  learn  anything  from  them. 
At  last,  by  promises  that  they  should  not  be 
proceeded  against,  we  succeeded — they  con 
fessed  that  three  days  after  Mr.  Melmoth 
died,  Windsor  had  offered  them  a  large 
ing.  Scarcely  an  hour  after  I  heard  of  his  '  sum  of  money  to  witness  a  will  which  he 
death  I  was  again  seized  with  that  painful  said  Mr.  Melmoth  had  signed,  but  died  so 


forgive  me.  I  have  done  wrong,  though  I 
knevyit  not  at  the  time." 

1  I  promised  all  he  wished. 

'  'l  They  have  been  searching  several  days 
for  the  money  you  now  have,  but  there  they 
shall  be  disappointed.  Through  their  im 
position,  I  was  betrayed  into  taking  it,  but 
they  shall  never  reap  the  benefit  they  looked 
for;  and  now,  too,  they  report  that  1  have 
spent  my  time  for  months  at  low  gambling 
houses.  O,  my  friend,  I  look  to  you  to  clear 
my  fame,  and  that  of  my  father  and  dear 
Edward.  O,  keep  them  out  of  their  clutches, 
promise  me  that  you  will." 

'  I  promised  all  he  desired,  and  asked  if  he 
would  not  allow  me  to  remove  him  from  the 
house. 

'  "  O  no,"  he  cried,  "  it  is  useless.  I  cannot 
survive  more  than  a  day  or  two,  they  have 
taken  good  care  of  that."  As  we  parted,  he 
pressed  my  hand  to  his  heart.  "  Farewell!" 
he  cried,  "  I  shall  never  see  you  again  !" 

'  He  said  too  true,  for  he  died  before  morn- 


with    which   our  town  is 
were   of  the  very   lowest 


malady  which  has  so  many  times  threatened 
my  life.  My  physician  told  me  [  must  leave  the 
country  in  less  than  twenty-four  hours — that  I 


suddenly  that  witnesses  had  not  been  called. 
They  said  Windsor,  his  wife,  and  the  attor 
ney  were  present  at  the  time.  Their  depo- 


must  travel  for  months,  it  was  the  only  thing  i  sition  was  taken  down,  and  themselves  placed 
that  would  keep  me  from  the  grave.  I  re-  in  durance  till  called  for.  Next,  the  servants 
lated  to  him  the  circumstances  lam  now  |  were  examined,  and  being  threatened  with 
writing  to  you,  and  protested  I  must  stay  to  punishment  in  case  of  obstinacy,  said  that 


bring  the  offenders  to  justice.  He  however 
advised  me  to  seek  you,  accompany  you 
home,  and  then  together  prosecute  the  affiir 
in  hand.  I  set  out  the  next  day,  and  in  reach 
ing  Florence,  where  your  last  letter  was 
dated,  found  you  had  long  since  left  for  home. 
This  was  a  disappointment.  My  health  would 
not  permit  my  immediate  return,  and  I  wrote 
to  you,  but  suppose  you  never  received  the 
communication.  Two  months  since,  I  re 
turned  home,  you  were  not  to  be  found, 
though  I  made  every  inquiry  for  you. 

'  I  immediately  commenced  a  prosecution 
against  your  father's  widow  and  her  husband, 
Mr.  Windsor,  for  forgery.  They  wore  living 


they  had  been  bribed  by  their  mistress  to 
utter  falsehoods,  in  order  to  blacken  the 
character  of  their  master  and  his  son,  and 
they  had  never  seen  the  least  thing  in  either 
but  was  perfectly  fair  and  honorable. 

'  With  this  array  of  proof,  we  had  only  to 
go  forward.  The  attorney  who  drew  up  the 
will,  fled  from  the  country,  and  we  have  not 
been  able  to  trace  him.  Windsor  and  his 
wife  were  thrown  into  prison,  and  when  they 
found  their  guilt  proved  beyond  doubt,  and 
disgrace  and  punishment  would  ensue,  the 
hero  of  the  drama  strangled  himself  with  his 
handkerchief,  while  his  wife,  oppressed  with 
terror  of  her  approaching  fate,  and  perhaps 


94 


SENORA  INES. 


with  remorse  for  her  guilty  life,  is  now  a 
raging  maniac,  kept  in  close  confinement  in 
an  asylum  •  Everything  is  now  clear,  my 
dear  Edward.  You  must  return  and  resume 
your  station  in  the  world.  By  the  conditions 
of  the  will,  on  the  death  of  your  brother  and 
sister,  you  are  Mr.  Melmoth's  sole  heir.  I 
congratulate  you,  Edward.  I  know  your  proud 
spirit,  and  am  certain  you  must  have  suffered 
much  ;  but  I  hope  the  future  will  amply  com 
pensate  for  the  past.' 

As  Clifton  closed  this  long  epistle,  he  turn 
ed  to  his  friend  with^a  glance  that  revealed 
all  the  glad  feelings  of  his  soul.  '  Ah,  my 


friend,'  he  cried,  '  you  can  scarcely  be  more 
rejoiced  at  this  change  than  myself.' 

Stanley  pressed  his  friend's  hand  in  silence. 
His  heart  was  overflowing  with  too  many  dif 
ferent  emotions  to  allow  him  the  power  of 
speech.  We  will  not  aver,  that  some  thought 
of  Alice  Hereford  did  not  mingle  with  his 
pleasurable  emotions. 

The  next  week  the  train  left  Mexico  for 
Vera  Cruz,  and  with  it  our  small  company, 
Don  Carlos,  his  daughter,  and  Henri — with 
Clifton,  and  Stanley,  bade  adieu  to  their 
friends — Don  Juan  blessing  his  grandchild 
and  her  young  lover,  and  commending  them 
to  the  care  of  Heaven. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


Which  crowns  the  bliss  of  two  hearts,  and  brings  others  nearer  to  a  happy  issue. 

'  Mirth,  music,  friendship,  love's  propitious  smile, 
Chase  every  care.' 


IT  was  towards  evening,  on  a  bright  day 
about  the  middle  of  November,  that  a  body 
of  American  troops  rode  forth  from  the  city 
of  Vera  Cruz,  to  meet  a  train  just  approach 
ing  from  the  city  of  Mexico.  The  advance 
was  already  seen  at  a  distance,  their  banners 
streaming  forth  in  the  sunlight:  while  en 
livening  strains  of  music  floated  upon  the  air. 
On  a  piazza  of  one  of  the  first  hotels,  might 
be  seen  a  small  party  standing  in  a  group, 
apart  from  the  crowd.  The  entrance  of  the 
train  seemed  to  occupy  their  attention  ex 
clusively.  There  they  stood,  making  com 
ments  upon  the  different  heroes  as  they  pass 
ed.  After  a  while,  exclamations  of  impatience 
escaped  some  of  the  party.  '  Will  they  nev 
er  come?'  cried  a  lively  girl,  who  was  bend 
ing  over  and  examining  the  faces  of  those 
passing  in  the  street  below.  '  What  do  you 


think?'  she  continued,  turning  and  address 
ing  a  young  gentleman  by  her  side.  '  Do 
you  think  they  have  decided  to  take  up  their 
residence  in  Mexico  ?' 

'  Perhaps  so,'  he  answered  with  a  smile  j 
the  next  moment  he  exclaimed,  '  who  do  you 
think  that  carriage  contains?  Do  you  re 
cognize  any  one  there,  Mademoiselle  Marie  ?' 

'Ah,  there  they  are,  sure  enough  ;  but  look, 
Senor  Alphonso,  they  do  not  deign  us  even 
a  glance — they  are,  going  to  the  house  across 
the  way.  There  is  Arthur  and  his  friend 
riding  by  the  carriage.  But  do  you  know 
the  gentleman  with  your  sister  Ines  ?' 

'  The  elder,'  replied  Alphonso,  '  is  my 
father — the  other,  an  adopted  brother;  but 
they  have  alighted,  and  are  disappearing 
within.  My  friends,  you  will  excuse  me,  if  I 
leave  you  a  few  moments.' 


SENORA  INES. 


He  darted  away,  and  in  a  few  moments 
was  seen  entering,  where  his  friends  had 
disappeared. 

Mr.  Hereford  and  Monsieur  De  la  Croisy, 
with  their  daughters,  composed  the  party  we 
have  mentioned.  They  remained  at  their 
station  but  a  few  moments,  and  then  retired 
within.  In  a  short  timeAlphonso  returned, 
and  introduced  his  friends  into  a  large  pri- 
rate  room,  which  Mr.  Hereford  had  secured 
for  the  party.  We  will  pass  over  the  joyful 
meeting  of  the  re-united  friends,  leaving  it 
to  the  imagination  of  the  reader.  Clifton 
was  quite  disappointed  that  Helen  was  not 
present.  Alphonso  told  him  '  that  his  moth 
er  was  rather  feeble,  and  her  daughter  could 
not  think  of  leaving  her.' 

Stanley  now  did  not  attempt  to  veil  his 
sentiments  for  Miss  Hereford.  Love  spoke 
in  every  glance.  Her  eyes  fell  before  his 
own,  with  a  soft  confusion,  which  awakened 
fervent  hope  in  his  bosom,  an  inmate  rarely 
occupying  that  sanctum.  After  the  first 
greetings  were  over,  and  the  feelings  of  the 
company  had  subsided  into  something  like 
calmness,  Clifton  at  a  glance  from  Mr.  Here 
ford,  left  the  room,  and  in  a  moment  return 
ed  with  Henri,  whispering  to  him  as  he  en 
tered,  to  be  composed  and  not  betray  himself 
by  his  agitation. 

Arthur  first  presented  him  to  Mr.  Hereford 
and  Alice — and  then  led  him  to  Monsieur 
De  la  Croisy,  with  the  introduction — '  Senor 
De  Montaldo's  adopted  son,  and  my  preserver 
from  a  prison  and  death.'  The  doctor  arose, 
extended  his  hand  with  a  smile  of  welcome, 
and  leading  him  to  Marie,  introduced  his 
daughter.  He  stood  for  a  moment,  with  the 
hand  of  each  in  his  own,  unmindful  of  the 
singularity  of  his  manner.  He  gazed  from 
Henri  to  Marie,  and  then  again  his  eyes  were 
rivetted  upon  the  young  man's  face — while 
an  expression  of  strange  bewilderment  cross 
ed  his  features. 

Henri  dared  not  raise  his  eyes,  but  turned 
away  fearful  of  betraying  his  agitation.  Sud 


denly  the  doctor  dropped  the  hands  he  had 
hitherto  held  firmly — and  commenced  pacing 
the  room  rapidly. 

Henri  took  a  seat  by  Marie,  and  trieJ  t) 
converse  with  her,  but  he  was  agitated  in  spite 
of  himself,  and  his  eyes  continually  wander 
ed  to  his  father — he  longed  to  kneel  at  his 
feet,  and  ask  his  blessing. 

Marie  following  his  wandering  glances, 
said  :  '  My  dear  father  seems  strangely  af 
fected  from  meeting  you  to  night.' 

Henri  raised  his  eyes  at  the  moment,  and 
met  those  of  his  father,  fastened  upon  his 
face. 

The  doctor  darted  forward,  and  seizing 
the  other's  hand,  cried  in  a  voice  hoarse 
with  emotion,  '  Who  are  you  '? — What  are 
you  1 — Those  eyes  ! — O  !  once  they  looked 
into  mine  with  love  and  tenderness.  Whose 
are  they— -tell  me?'  He  seemed  almost  wild 
in  his  eagerness. 

Henri,  no  longer  able  to  control  his  emo 
tion,  cast  himself  at  his  father's  feet.  '  Those 
eyes,'  he  cried,  '  will  ever  look  with  the 
warmest  affection  upon  Monsieur  De  la 
Croisy.' 

The  doctor  sunk  upon  his  knees.  '  Henri.' 

'  My  father.'  . 

They  were  in  each  other's  arms  sobbing 
like  children. 

Marie  threw  her  arms  around  her  recover 
ed  brother's  neck — and  her  ever  bright  face 
was  bedewed  with  warm  tears.  Not  an  eye 
in  the  room  but  was  humid  from  sympathy. 
Header,  allow  us  to  drop  the  curtain  ! 

The  next  morning,  a  small  but  happy  com 
pany  were  assembled  in  one  of  the  parlors  of 
the  hotel  The  party*  of  the  evening  before 
was  increased  by  two  or  three  American  of 
ficers,  and  as  many  ladies  of  the  town.  The 
young  people  were  gay,  and  in  vivid  spirits. 
The  elder  gentlemen  were  happy  in  the  re 
membrance  of  their  own  youthful  days.  The 
whole  countenance  of  M.  De  la  Croisy  beam 
ed  with  joyful  emotion,  as  he  gazed  on  his 


SENORA  INES. 


97 


new  found  sou  and  lively  daughter;  and  he 
looked  forward  to  a  serene  decline  of  life, 
spent  iii  the  society  of  his  children. 

There  was  a  momentary  hush — a  door 
opened — a  lady  and  gentleman  advanced  to 
the  centre  of  the  room.  Stanley  led  Miss 
Hereford  to  the  lady's  side,  and  himself  re 
treated  to  his  friend's  right  hand.  The  cler 
gyman  in  his  robes  approached  to  join  two 
loving  hearts,  in  the  secret  bonds  of  everlast 
ing  union.  Don  Carlos  gave  the  bride  away 
with  a  swelling  heart — and  Clifton,  as  he 
pressed  the  golden  circlet  upon  her  finger, 
and  clasped  her  to  his  bosom,  softly  whis 
pered — 

4  Thus  let  me  hold  thee  to  my  heart, 

And  every  care  resign  ; 
And  shall  we  never — never  part, 

O  !  tliou  my  all  that's  mine  !' 

The  ceremony  and  congratulaAns  over, 
they  repaired  to  another  room,  where  by  di 
rection  of  the  bridegroom,  an  elegant  repast 
was  laid  out.  Rare  exotics,  shed  a  grateful 
fragrance  through  the  room ;  while  soft 
strains  of  melting  harmony,  from  unseen 
minstrels,  stole  over  them,  seeming  to  enchain 
the  soul,  and  '  wrap  it  in  elysiurn.' 

The  bridal  party  remained  several  days  in 
Vera  Cruz,  and  then  came  the  parting. 

The  idea  of  saying  adieu  to  his  daughter 
was  very  bitter  to  Don  Carlos,  but  he  check 
ed  his  regrets.  He  saw  she  had  given  her 
young  heart  in  all  its  freshness  and  purity,  to 
one  every  way  worthy  of  her — and  who  re 
turned  her  affection,  by  an  ardent  devotion 
which  could  not  fail  to  make  her  happy.  As 
she  clung  weeping  to  his  bosom,  though 
scarcely  able  to  control  his  own  feelings,  he 
endeavored  to  cheer  her.  She  at  last  raised 
her  head,  and  said  in  a  trembling  voice  :  '  My 
dearest  father,  though  I  leave  you  now,  1 
shall  very  often  visit  you,  in  your  own  lonely 
home;  and  I  do  not  leave  you  entirely  alone. 
You  have  dear  grandfather  with  you;  and 
Alphonso,  with  his  bride,  will  soon  meet 
you  in  Mexico. 


Clifton  now  advanced,  and  received  his 
trembling  bride  in  his  arms,  while  Don  Car 
los  turned  to  say  farewell  to  his  son.  He 
granted  Alphonso  a  willing  consent  to  the 
completion  of  his  wishes — and  obtained  a 
promise,  that  as  soon  as  the  affairs  in  Mexico 
had  become  settled,  he  would  take  his  bride 
home. 

Monsieur  De  la  Croisy  repeatedly  express 
ed  his  heart-felt  gratitude  to  Senor  De  Mon- 
taldo,  for  the  parental  care  and  attention  he 
had  bestowed  upon  his  child — and  at  parting, 
pressed  upon  his  acceptance,  the  sum  of 
100,000  dollars.  Don  Carlos  for  a  long  time 
refused  to  accept  it. 

'  Do  not  grieve  me  by  a  refusal,'  cried  De 
Croisy.  '  I  do  not  offer  this  merely  in  pay 
ment  for  what  you  have  expended  upon  Hen 
ri  ;  but  I  trust  you  will  accept  it  as  a  token 
of  gratitude  and  esteem,  for  the  parental  af 
fection  you  have  extended  to  my  son,  when 
his  father  was  debarred  the  privilege  ever  of 
knowing  that  he  lived.' 

Don    Carlos  now    turned  to  Henri.     '  My 
I  young  friend,'    he  said,  'believe  me,   I  sin- 
i  cerely  rejoice  in  your  prospects  of  future  hap 
piness.      You    have    found    an    affectionate 
parent,    and    lovely   sister,  who    meet   even 
your  most  exalted   hopes.     1  trust,    in   your 
accession  to  rank  and  wealth,  the  friends  of 
your  youth  will  not  be  forgotten.' 

'O,  never,  my  more  than  parent!'  cried 
Henri,  with  emotion,  'never  will  I  forget 
those  who  have  supplied  the  place  of  my 
natural  protectors — never  cease  to  remember 
them  with  prayers  for  their  safety  and  hap 
piness.' 

The  hour  is  past !  the  vessel  has  left  the 
shore — and  the  sad  Don  Carlos  is  left  to  re 
turn  to  his  lonely  home. 

Soon  our  little  party  reached  New  Orleans 
— and  were  received  wiih  a  rapturous  wel 
come,  by  their  affectionate  friends.  Clifton 
presented  his  lovely  bride  to  his  mother,  who, 
as  she  enfolded  her  in  a  warm  embrace, 
whispered, — '  Receive  in  me  a  second  moth 
er,  one  to  replace  her  you  have  lost,  and  who 


SENORA  INES. 


will  endeavor  to  make  her  Arthur's  treasure 
happy  in  her  new  home.  Ines  now  turned  to 
Helen,  who  had  just  given  Clifton  a  tender 
embrace.  •  My  dear,  sweet  sister,'  exclaim 
ed  Helen,  '  your  return  with  our  truant 
Arthur,  will  make  us  completely  happy,  and 
we  shall  take  good  care,  that  you  do  notvleave 
us  soon  again.' 

4  But  may  we  not  soon  lose  you  ?'  replied 
Ines,  with  an  arch  smile. 

A  soft  blush   suffused  Helen's  cheek. 

'O  no!  not  lose  me,'  she  said,  'we  shall 
be  connected  by  a  tie  still  nearer  and  dearer 
than  at  present.' 

In  the  course  of  a  few  days,  Stanley  not 
only  received  his  own  fortune,  but  was  ac 
knowledged  heir  of  aH  Mr.  Melmoth's  vast 


possessions,  and  received  the  congratulations 
of  his  friends.  The  same  day,  he  visited 
Clifton.  His  eyes  beamed  more  brightly  than 
usual — a  sweet  smile  played  over  his  lips — 
and  his  whole  countenance  sparkled  with  ani 
mation.  He  pressed  Arthur's  hand  in  his 
own.  '  Now,'  he  cried,  '  I  hope  to  be  as 
happy  as  my  friend ;  the  lovely  Alice  has 
consented  to  secure  my  felicity,  by  uniting 
her  fate  with  mine.  After  regarding  her  so 
long  with  a  hopeless  worship,  I  am  soon  to 
be  elevated  with  perfect  bliss.  Do  you  not 
wish  me  joy  V 

'  1  do  indeed,  Edward,'  replied  his  friend, 
'  I  wish  you  as  much  felicity  as  I  enjoy ;  more 
I  could  not  ask  for  you.' 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


Happiness  triumphant.     Winding  up  of  the  plot,  and  kavc*taking  of  the  reader, 

1 1  stood  by  the  towers  of  Ardenville, 
And  the  bells  rang  out  a  merry  peal ; 
There  was  a  priest  in  his  robes  of  white, 
There  was  a  maiden  lovely  and  bright ; 
A  gallant  knight  stood  by  her  side, 
And  the  shout  of  joy  sounded  far  and  wiJe.' 


The  first  day  of  the  new  year  has  come. 
The  city  is  a  scene  of  gay  confusion — the 
streets  are  thronged  with  light-hearted  beings 
on  the  wing  for  pleasure. 


Stanley  and  Alice  were  first  united  in  the 
holiest  of  all  relations  ;  Mr.  Hereford  giving 
the  bride  away.  Then  Clifton  advanced,  and 
taking  the  hand  of  the  rich  heiress  of  Doug- 


The  bells  ofGrace  Church  rang  forth  their !  lass,  placed  it  in  that  of  Montaldo,  and  the 
merriest  peala  upon  the  clear  air.  A  gay !  sacred  words  were  pronounced  which  made 
throng  magnificently  dressed,  were  pouring!  them  one. 


into  the  church  by  the  various  avenues.  The 
city  clock  tolled  the  hour  of  two — there  was 
a  hush  over  the  brilliant  assembly,  as  the  cler 
gyman  in  his  surplice  entered  the  chancel, 
and  knelt  for  a  moment  in  silent  prayer.  The 
deep  toned  organ. sent  forth  peals  of  exquis 
ite  harmony,  as  a  bridal  pafty  ascended  the 
broad  aisle,  and  knelt  at  the  altar.  The  two 
lovely  brides  were  richly  dressed  in  lace  and 
pearly  satin.  Their  heads  were  uncovered, 
save  a  snowy  veil  of  rich  Brussels,  fastened 
in  their  flowing  tresses,  and  floating  back 
ovor  their  graceful  shoulders. 


Again  the  organ  poured  forth  its  notes  of 
celestial  melody,  and  the  party  moved  slowly 
away.  The  assemblage  present  were  invited 
guests — -and  all  now  repaired  to  Mr.  Stan 
ley's  elegant  mansion,  to  partake  of  a  nuptial 
feast — everything  relating  to  it  was  so  ex 
quisitely  arranged,  as  to  please  the  most 
fastidious  taste.  The  rich— the  gay — the 
talented— manly  beauty,  and  female  loveli 
ness,  mingled  in  one  stream  of  delighted  en 
joyment. 

Dear  reader,  we  have  followed  our  friends 
through  many  scenes— have  been  present  ai 


100 


SENORA  INES. 


their  nuptials — and  have  pronounced  them 
happy  ;  and  now  we  will  clos.e,  by  a  brief 
mention  of  some  of  our  principal  characters. 

Arthur  Clifton  remains  in  the  city  through 
the  winter  months,  where  his  young  bride 
attracts  universal  admiration,  and  then 
will  return  to  spend  his  summers  at  La 
Grange  Villa,  where  in  the  society  of  his 
mother,  and  his  sweet  Ines,  he  MB  confident 
of  enjoying  the  purest  felicity. 

Alphonso  and  Helen  will  remain  with 
Clifton,  till  peace  is  proclaimed  in  Mexico, 
when  they  will  depart  for  his  distant  home, 
with  the  promise,  however,  of  spending  part 
of  every  year,  with  their  friends  here. 


Stanley's  fascinating  bride  reigns  one  of 
the  brightest  stars  in  the  galaxy  of  fashion  ; 
but  her  most  absolute  dominion  is  in  her 
husband's  heart. 

The  Marquis  De  la  Croisy,  with  his  re 
covered  son,  and  the  interesting  Marie,  re 
mained  to  see  their  friends  united  in  the 
bonds  of  matrimony — and  then,  with  an  af 
fectionate  adieu,  set  sail  for  '  La  belle 
France,'  to  resume  their  rank  and  station,  so 
long  thrown  aside. 

Having  now  brought  our  friends  to  the 
acme  of  earthly  felicity,  we  will  leave  them 
to  pursue  their  course  through  the  world, 
grateful  for  the  blessings  of  the  past,  and 
hopefully  trusting  for  the  future. 


THE  END. 


